


Late Fees

by Rancid_Rat6186



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Feels, Bucky is awkward, Captain America Steve Rogers, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, I'll tag more later - Freeform, Librarian Bucky, Lots of Bucky tags, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Panic Attacks, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Public Masturbation, and he swears a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-17 00:35:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12353760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rancid_Rat6186/pseuds/Rancid_Rat6186
Summary: Steve wants to read up on everything he has missed over the years while frozen underwater. He figures the library is the best place to go.Cue shy, awkward librarian Bucky Barnes. Disabled war veteran who is just looking to keep to himself and surround himself with all the books he can find at the local library.In walks a perfect stranger named Steve. And Bucky is having a hard time getting everything to work right while helping Steve find books to read.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



> Trying this out.
> 
> I'll update tags later and as more comes out.
> 
> No idea what the update schedule will be like. I'm not good at those, anyways. 
> 
> Just want to thank kalika_999 for helping me bring out this idea! And gushing over librarian!bucky along with me.

The lights flickered on, a soft echo from the snap of the switchplate reverberating off of the literature stuffed walls. Dust particles sparkled in the faint early morning sunlight peaking through the faded blinds over the windows. It was early. Too early. The library wasn't due to open for another two hours. But, Bucky always showed up this early. There was something about the stillness of the place that soothed him, from the inside out. Like a worn, fuzzy blanket that held all of his worst nightmares at bay, coddling him with a safety that, even though imaginary, was stronger than all the metals in the world. 

Stronger than the prototype mass of metal surgically adhered to his left shoulder...

That's a different story, for another time. 

Bucky hates that story. He'd much rather get lost in the thousands of stories surrounding him, currently. Fiction and non-fiction. Romance, horror, sci-fi, philosophical journeys that help lonely souls find their ways, etched from one syllable to the next. Words splattered across age-weary-worn pages, yellowed from time, dust scattering off their corners and floating through the air. Their bindings trapped their secrets, their stories, their woes and desires inside, all that history, all those pieces of the writer's souls bared and quivering from deep against the spine between two hardcovers. 

These are the only stories he cares about. 

His doesn't belong here. His doesn't belong anywhere. And, as for what a long list of therapists and doctors, and even concerned family members argue against, Bucky does not give one morsel of a figurative shit what anyone else says. A small part of him wants to include literal shit into that scenario, but decides against it. Most of the time. 

After last night's torture session _No, it was just a therapy appointment, Bucky..._ , Bucky is more than willing to find the closest brown paper bag and leave a flaming pile of the literal kind on the doorstep of his latest Therapy Adventure. _Fuck that guy, anyways._

Bucky went through his morning routine _because routines are important when attempting to ease back into civilian life..._ He clenched and unclenched the fingers on his right hand, the ones still held midair, hovering inches from the rest of the light panel. He shook his head, long hair feather touching his nose and cheeks, squeezing his eyes closed, forcing the forced mantra from his mind. Grayed away blue eyes softly slid out from under the glaze of far away thoughts and even more far away places and memories. _We're not having those, today. Okay?_

The city had been great to Bucky this past year. They've allowed him to come in at all hours, arriving far too early for his shifts and staying well past punching out time. He rarely spoke to anyone else, but was a damn good worker, and never had a thing to complain about. He wasn't paid much, but he had that other source of income that kept him plenty comfortable. Nobody ever mentioned the gleaming and proverbial elephant that was constantly by Bucky's side. It was only ever touched upon, once, during his initial interview.

"It says here that you served in the military?"

"Yes, ma'am. 107th. Three tours. Honorable discharge. Got home a year ago this August." 

"Well, welcome aboard, James."

"Bucky. And, thank you."

That was the extent of the conversation Bucky had of his past. Well, the parts everyone always seemed to be too overly interested in. The tiniest woman he had ever seen just simply smiled at him and dangled a set of keys in front of them. Bucky has been coming in every day, except Sundays, to file away unused and borrowed books, and find some time to settle into the corner behind the front desk and read his way into the finer details of the world's history, fiction and non-fiction alike. 

This is where Bucky was content. Quiet, surrounded by other people's words and thoughts, easily slipping away from the world that so eagerly wanted to destroy him, time and time and time again. This was where Bucky could fade into the shadows and be just another forgotten story in the mass of endless prose and paragraphs, a noun lost on the tongue between verbs and adjectives. 

\--------------------------------------  
Bucky placed his dented thermos of way-too-strong coffee down on the counter of the desk tucked off to the left side of the main floor of the library. A rusted bell, a sign with white capitalized "SHH" letters sat brightly contrasted against a forest green background, a stack of early morning edition papers from the day before, and a run down computer sat in their expected places amongst the desk's surface. Bucky dropped the stack of books he cleared out from the after hours drop box outside the library, watching the dust from some of them twist and wisp into the air. 

The sun was still rising outside, almost out of sight between the half opened blinds the large windows held. Morning was finding its way to Bucky, no matter how much he tried to avoid it. Morning meant people. People meant talking. Morning meant existing in the world. 

He sat himself down behind the desk, metal finger pushing the monitor button on the old computer screen in, bringing the machine to life. It groaned and squealed, modem and electricity fighting against itself to flicker into existence. Bucky's eyes traced along the desk's surface, reaching the stack of old newspapers he had dropped there yesterday morning.

"Avengers Risking Life and Damaging Neighborhood in Last Week's Invasion. Where Are They Now After To Answer For Their Actions And Damage?"

The headline caught his eye before the action shot had. Boldened black letters inked out across the off-white linen of the front page, albeit a very lengthy and unclever formation of words...as far as actual headlines went... The Avengers. They always made the news. Saving the day from whatever harm came upon the world. And always followed by some sort of ownership to whatever destruction was left behind. 

Bucky always caught himself with his own inner fury at those headlines. _What else exactly did the world want from them? Wasn't fighting for the survival of the human race enough? Wasn't it enough to stare danger in the face and continue to fight when everyone else ran the other way? Was it not enough to fall time and time again, only to rise, to never give up? Even when all the odds are against you?! Even when refusing to back down gets you months and months of toture?! Even when your arm is half hanging off your body and..._

Bucky didn't know when it happened, but he had tucked himself underneath the desk, knees pulled up into his chest and arms clutching around his legs. His knees were pressed so tightly into his chest that the gasping breaths he was heaving to grasp were even more difficult to find. His fingers ached, as he slowly released their grip around his arms. The ones clenching around his right arm...there was definitely going to be some bruising. He still hadn't fully accepted the new metal appendage, its pros and cons. He might have, also, been lacking in the 'pro' column, aside from opening pickle jars...

He slammed his eyes closed, focusing on the air rushing in through his nose and billowing out through his pursed lips. _In and out. In and out. Slow your heart. Slow your breathing. In and out. In and out._ His sister's voice echoed inside of his head. Her soft voice bringing him back, pulling him away from that ledge he toed so casually so often. Less, in the last few months. But, damn, that ledge was his favorite when he first came back. 

He slowly opened his eyes, squinting on reflex from the light that had trickled in. How long had he been down there? Another lapse of time, moments of his life long out of his reach, yet again. 

"Hello?"

Bucky's entire body reacted, flinching back and upwards simultaneously. His head bounced off the underside of the desk, thudding loudly in the mostly empty library, when Bucky thought he had been alone this entire time. Wait, was he, still? _That was another person's voice, right? Not just in my head again...right??_ **That** was a really fun half year...trying to differentiate between the voices in his head...conscience, inner dialogue, or ingrained destructive thoughts placed so undelicately by enemy hands.

"Hey, are you okay?"

There it was again. That voice. Deep, calm, like a rush of warm waves crashing down over him, luring him in, settling him in under the calmness of the water. Bucky rocked forward, adjusting his weight to land himself on all fours. Fingertips, both metal and flesh, gripping the fibers of the rug beneath him. He crawled _like the fucking child he really was_ from under the desk, body twisting as he slowly peeked his eyes over the edge of the desk. 

Standing in front of him, hands pressed on top of the desk, leaning slightly forward, was a man beyond the realm of describable beauty. Blonde hair parted and flattened, small strands sticking up in chaotic ways, only seen from the silhouetting sunshine behind him, drowning him in with a golden aura that closely resembled angelic paintings from the past. Eyes bluer than whatever fucking shade of blue Bucky's imagination could muster up. Wait, no. His imagination couldn't even come up with such a color. And skin, flawless. No imperfections. Muscles tucked away under a shirt that was clearly made for an infant. Jeans hugging right in every single way, at least the parts Bucky could see from behind the desk. 

"Hey. Sorry if I startled you. Are you okay?"

Bucky was consistently surrounded by words, and every one of them, spiraled and floated away from him at that moment. 

"Uh..."

_Smooth._

Bucky slowly climbed out from underneath the desk, knees wobbling slightly from the sudden weight of his entire body. Almost like his bones hadn't felt the mass of his skin, his muscles, before. His head throbbed, localized to the back top corner of his head, where he so casually smacked his head on the desk. _I meant to do it. Really._

A soft chuckle escaped those perfect lips across from him. _Stop staring, Bucky. Stop staring. Close your mouth. You're gaping. And...are you drooling?! Seriously?!!!_ Bucky's jaw clenched and strained, teeth clacking as his mouth snapped closed. And, speaking of teeth, _fuck...did the guy have to have such perfectly white teeth?!_. Bucky groaned. Actually groaned. At the massive clustering pile of absolute unfairness that was this god like silhouette in front of him, all perfectly sculpted with contrasting sharp and soft lines, contours within the most unneccessary cheek bones, all splashed with the heavenly hues of golden yellows...just standing right in front Bucky like it was any other day...smiling this obnoxious and eye destroying smile. 

Maybe someone was playing some twisted practical joke on him. This ungodly... _no, that's definitely not right..._ picture perfect god-like creature couldn't be this warm and charming to Bucky...no. _That just must be how he is to everyone. Because, why couldn't the guy just be a dick? It would make this whole interaction much more simple. Wait...interaction...interacting...you need to fucking speak in order for that to actually take place._

"What?"

Bucky isn't entirely positive he didn't actually act out smacking the palm of his metal hand against his forehead. _No, it didn't happen. Relax. But, you'd absolutely deserve to have the headache left from that, though._

"I just, I mean, it sounded like you might have, uhm, hit your head? You, uhm, groaned, maybe, too? Sounded like you might, uhm, got hurt under there? I was, uhm, just wanted to make sure you were...okay?"

Is Golden Sunshine and Puppies and Happiness Person really asking if Bucky was okay?...and...being shy about it?! _Alright, hidden camera guy, show yourself. Not in the mood for this today. Also, let's just slide right on over that mention of the whole groaning thing. Yeah. Play it off like it was from being a dipshit and smacking your head. Much better than what actually happened..._

"Oh, uhm, no, I'm not...I mean, yeah, I'm...sure...stuff...huh?"

_Lost it at the end, didn't you?_

_Fuck off. Nobody was talking to you._

Another soft chuckle slipped from that god-like creature across the way from Bucky. Holy shit, did that feel amazing. Bucky struggled a bit to fully comprehend what was happening, knowing HE caused that smile to happen. 

Then, the blackest of skies clouded over and the impending torrential downpour of awkward silences was looming, from across the distance. Bucky could even see the line of weather along the landscape, watching as the split of dried grounds and soaked surfaces so easily contrasted one another. All in the short five second span it took for that warm, beautiful, perfect smile to fade from that gorgeous face. 

Bucky may not do very well with literal, outward conversations with the rest of the entire human population _No, you suck at it. Fuck off._ but, he could, at least, get by. Awkward silences and unexpected pauses mid-conversation, well, no. Bucky was pure shit at those. And, that is exactly what this thunderstorm of an interaction was turning into. 

Bucky used to kind of like thunderstorms, but, maybe after this never-ending moment of infinite loops and repeats...he might change his stance on those. 

"I was, uhm, wondering if you could, uhm, maybe, possibly help me find a book?"

Oh, well, would you look at that...a nice, bright bolt of lightning searing across the darkening sky, enveloping Bucky in radiant light and sparking fire back into his joints. Bucky was even heavily considering referring to this greek mythical masterpiece as Zeus himself...maybe even pull on some Nordic tales and slap the name Thor across the man's forehead. At least, then, he could call him something. 

"Oh, uhm, yeah, I...yeah?"

Thunder clapped and rang in through his ears, muting out the rest of the world as that chuckle escaped deep from within the confines of that smooth throat on good 'ol Zeus. _The things I could kiss into that skin...tracing it down to those perfectly pillowing pecs stuck buried beneath that shirt..._

"...if you maybe had a suggestion?"

Oh, shit. Bucky had gotten lost in his personal spank bank entry of an imaginary daydream _please don't ever say the term 'spank bank' ever again_ to remember to actually focus and listen to what Zeus had to say. 

"Wait, what? Sorry."

Another clap of smiling thunder from the god himself, ripping through his bones, clattering marrow against cartilege and ligaments, aligning every misplaced vertebrae along Bucky's twisted to shit and weighted down spinal column. _stupid fucking metal arm...yeah, you might look cool as shit, but you kind of fucking suck. I don't care if you pay half my rent..._

_...okay...all of my rent._

_...and other stuff, too._

_Whatever._

"I'm gonna be, uhm, I'll be, on...vacation...for the next week or so and wanted to, maybe, uhm, grab a couple books, uhm, to bring along with me? And, I wasn't sure, uhm, I was wondering if, uhm, you had any suggestions?"

Bucky had been partially transfixed watching as Zeus rubbed at those soft, fine hairs on the back of his neck. Zeus' arm flexed, squeezing his bicep and tricep and whatever the fuck else was inside a person's arm, muscles twitching and fluttering underneath that golden kissed skin of his. The whole action pulled up one of those pillowy pecs, bouncing it slightly with the motion. Bucky was not staring. No. _Dude, stop drooling._

"Sugg...suggessss....suggestions?"

Bucky licked around his lips, trying to pull back in that Not-Really-Happening Drool, and Bucky couldn't help but notice the slight lip part from Zeus as those blue eyes tracked his tongue. _Was he..? Did he just...? Holy fuck!_ And, dammit, there was that chuckle, again, as Zeus brought his arm back down and shoved his hands into the front pockets of those perfectly fitting jeans, rocking softly on the balls and heels of his feet, almost like he was swaying to some unheard song to Bucky's ears. 

"Uhm, yeah. You're, uhm, you're favorites?"

At that moment, Bucky will easily agree that he was staring. This man, this total fucking stranger, regardless of his level of utter hotness...wanted Bucky's personal recommendations on his favorite books, his favorite collection and bundle of words and punctuations. To read. To submerge himself into while he was on some vacation somewhere. _Probably with some equally beautiful woman by his side..._

"You really wanna read a bunch of books on your vacation? Won't your girlfriend, or, uhm, wife, be mad?"

Zeus' shy smile slipped away. Bucky's heart skipped, then sprinted along in a panicked attempt to see just how fast the human heart could beat before spontaneously exploding inside one's own chest cavity. _No! Come back, smile._

"Oh, uhm, no."

Well, fuck sticks. He does have a girlfriend. Or wife. He didn't deny it. Just that she is probably even more amazing because she wouldn't be upset that Zeus over here opted to read a few books on their, probably, coastal European adventure, drinking their way through all the fancy wines and tiny as fuck dinner entrees that would probably starve a damn mouse with their ridiculous portions. _Two bites is not a meal, okay. I don't care how much parsley or weird red sauce stuff you sprinkle on the plate..._

"Oh...okay... Uhm, sure. Uhm..."

Bucky had a serious conversation with his knees, about the purpose of them and how they actually worked, and managed to get his entire body in alignment to walk without looking like a brand new giraffe that just came flopping on out of it's mom and was attempting it's first steps. It was, honestly, touch and go the first few steps. And, Bucky may also have been using the sturdiness of the desk to help keep his balance... _shhhh_

When Bucky rounded the corner, Zeus had untucked his hands from his pockets and had turned to face where Bucky would be. He was only an inch or two taller than Bucky, but his shoulder width dwarfed Bucky's, easily. _Sort of resembles a chip, doesn't he? A dorito! Yes! A fucking dorito, with that shoulder/hip combo. But, the cool ranch flavor. Fuck all those other flavors..._ A tiny smile had broken across those lips, and Bucky felt that marathoning heart of his trip over some imaginary rock in that imaginary race his head was cooking up in that imaginary expirament for total cardiac combustion. For a quick, fleeting moment, Bucky was thankful it was just a hint of a smile, or else Bucky was absolutely sure he'd have a conclusion to that. Yeah, a full on smile from Zeus...would absolutely shatter his heart. In all the best ways. _Wow. Can you get your shit together? For, like, five fucking minutes? Blood to your head. Not your dick. Repeat after me._

"Blood to your head. Not your dick."

_WHAT?!?!_

"I'm sorry?"

_Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck..._

That tiny little smile ghosting along Zeus' lips started a slow crawl upwards to a lopsided smirk. Deep, inviting blue eyes clouded over with amusement and curiosity. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _No! That was whispered! Right?! Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god!_ Since when did the library lose all it's sources of oxygen? And, when did this fucking boulder get itself lodged into Bucky's throat?! _oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck_

"What?"

Flawless recovery. Olympian status. Gold fucking medal. 

"You said something. I didn't catch it?"

Oh, hey, look! Oxygen! _yayy!_ Sure, that boulder was still there, nestled into the criscrossing fibrous coating of his throat, but Bucky could finally manage a breath. Completely unsteady, but...listen, bigger picture stuff. Minor details can be lasered in on later. Because, that's exactly what Bucky is going to do. Overanalyze every single moment of this alternative universe of What-The-Fucks and Are-You-Fucking-Kidding-Mes that he was faceplanting into left and right. Overanalyze, nitpick, break apart and slap back together, coat it with the stickiest glue obtainable, wrap it seven times in duct tape and toss it onto some tucked away, dusty shelf in the back corner of Bucky's brain...just so he can absentmindedly stumble upon it some time later and relive the entire nightmare of a situation all over again. His mind was delightful like that. _I am a fucking delight._

No, it wasn't. _I heard that..._

"Oh, no, uhm, nevermind. Let's just, uhm, this way."

Zeus stepped to the side, dramatically extending his arm to silently allow Bucky to lead the way. Bucky quickly smiled, his wandering mind forming some maladaptive imagery of Zeus being up on stage in some over the top Broadway spectacle and bowing down to thank his sea of adoring fans, all the while roses with all their sharpened thorns, rained down from the darkened theatre and pressed a soft glow of red to that flawless skin Zeus carried around. 

Bucky casually stepped over the piles and piles of scattered imaginary rose heads, cringing inwardly as he felt the empty crush of the petals underneath his feet as he walked past Zeus and led the way to his own plotted path through the library. _Oh, good. Knees and legs working together. Wonderful._

"Do you have, uhm, a preference?"

"Uhm, no. I haven't really, I guess, had a chance to read a lot these past, uhm, years. Kind of, uhm, just sort of wanted to, I guess, start?"

Bucky had made their way to the fiction section, one usually frequented at the tail end of summer for the necessary and required reading lists that every middle and high school student avoided until the very last week before school started. Bucky only knows this, well, because that was him. Reading was never high up on his priority list back in the day. Nope. He could bullshit like the best of them, and was always able to pull A's on all of his reports just skimming through the pages of whatever assigned novel he had blindly chosen that year. His love and adoration for words and their varying connections and patterns they made across eye worn pages hadn't come into focus until recently. 

It wasn't until he was layers thick covered in days, weeks, worth of mud, gun powder, sweat, and blood...not all of it his own, when Bucky found his soul's Piece of Peace. _Clever..._

It was Bucky's first tour, shipped out and sent overseas just weeks after graduating from bootcamp, Bucky found himself fresh faced and scared shitless as his fingers, both flesh sets, glided over that rifle shoved in his hands and gently patted on his bottom as his commanding officers sent him on his way. To help him make sense of everything that was going on, or, maybe, just to give his slowly warping mind a speck of a reprieve to the chaos around them, Bucky's rifle carrying fingers had found stiffly binded words forced into them. 

Riley. That was his name. Bucky's lifeline to his dwindling sanity in the endless hours under the hot desert sun, and frigid winds when that warm sun sizzled into the horizon, leaving cloudless night skies filled with every flickering star Bucky couldn't even fathom to. City skies never showed the stars. It had been months before Bucky could look up to the night sky without total and absolute wonderment. That was when Riley slid over an old, ragged soft cover book to where Bucky had been crouching, not knowing, then, that he had just heel kicked the door in for Bucky and shoulder checked him into the entire universe Bucky had snuffed his nose at for so many years.

Bucky's footfalls halted, reaching his intended destination. He shook his head quickly, rustling away those memories before they could do any real damage to his sanity, his heart, his soul. _No. No. I can't. Not right now. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorr..._

"What's this one about?"

Bucky blinked three times before fully rejoining the world back in the Brooklyn library. Zeus was tracing his fingers across a dulled out pink covered book. The protective library sheath over the cardstock had grayed and yellowed over time, colored from the length of years it had wonderfully existed in the world. Bucky softened a chuckle in his throat, one that had snuck around that boulder still in place, quieting the noise before it could fully escape. Yup. The book that Bucky vividly remembers hating and being forced to read the summer before ninth grade. Only to find, years and years later, just how in love with the story he actually was. 

"To Kill A Mockingbird?"

Zeus bent at the waist, eyes narrowing as his eyes flicked back and forth quickly.

"Guess that's what it says. Is it any good?"

Yup. Bucky stared. Again. Open mouthed. Again. No drool, though. So, points for that. 

"Seriously?"

Zeus stood back up, eyes widening and pooling, yet again, with curiosity. 

"Yeah?"

Bucky. Staring. Gaping.

"You've never read it?"

Zeus huffed softly, hands sliding back into his pockets in those _mmmph_ jeans of his and he looked...almost...sad?

"No."

Zeus' voice came out in such a whisper, shame somehow oozing over those two letters. 

"You weren't forced to do summer reading and write out book reports every year?"

Another soft huff of breath, another untimed shuffle of feet, and darting eyes flittering about as another whispered "no" escaped those lips. 

Bucky adjusted his weight, leaning back slightly away from this Zeus character, astonishment painting every feature of Bucky's face.

"Damn. Lucky. What school did you go to?"

Zeus' eyes flicked up and away, staring aimlessly at something far off to Bucky's left.

"Oh, uhm, out of to...upstate." 

A firmness etched into Zeus' already sharp as fuck jawline. It bloomed an uneasiness underneath Bucky's skin. He couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly. And, that made the uneasiness grow more. _I used to be so good at that. Reading people. What happened?!_

_You went to war and got your arm blown off and held your best friend's head in your lap as he..._

_Okay! It was rhetorical! Fucking relax on that shit._

"Oh. Uhm. Okay. Yeah. It's, uhm, it's pretty good. I mean, I like it."

That harsh line in Zeus' jaw eased up, muscles that had been twitching in their silent inner fury soothing away. The darkened shades in those deep blue eyes lightened. Shoulders stiffened and arched up in a defensive and protective reaction to such an innocent question shrugged back down, fulfilling the wonderfully dorito shaped silhouette. _Man, I'm kind of hungry..._

_Blood to your head. Not your dick._

_Not THAT kind of hungry!_

_...._

_Okay, maybe, like an appetizer sized hungry._

_Like one of those European entree portions you were just griping about a bit ago?_

_No, like greasy fucking chicken wings covered in buffalo sauce and dripping down my fucking fingers so I have to lick the stuff off...and I keep having to lick my lips because the sauce is too spicy and no matter how much I lick and lick and lick..._

_...are we still talking about food?_

_I, honestly, have no idea. I'm still kind of stuck on being pretty fucking hungry..._

Bucky shook the overwhelming thoughts from his head, loudly and silently cursing at himself for losing focus on Zeus all over again. He watched as Zeus carefully picked up the book off of the flimsy plastic display, letting those long, thin fingers gently bend the edges over and let the pages cascade with a soft **fwiiippp**. Those curiosity clouds collided along those blue tinged irises, a sight Bucky was finding himself relishing in every time it appeared, a sight Bucky wanted to scream a thousand questions into, hopelessly and hopefully yearning every soul cracking answer Zeus could spill about what made him, well, him. 

Something about this Zeus guy seemed so familiar, so safe, so inviting. Bucky still couldn't narrow down that familiarity, but found himself not shying away from the unknown, for the first time in what felt like lifetimes. Even if it had only been years. _Yeah, but those years feel like lifetimes...sometimes._ Zeus looked back up to Bucky. A smile had broken out over those lips _that I could do so much to...just imagine them, all stretched out..._...and Bucky forced the saliva back into his mouth.

"Well, I guess I'll take it."

Every muscle and nerve and tiny little molecule of an atom inside Bucky's body had to shift focus to help his lips return a smile. His fingers had, subconsciously, flicked out a few more lesser known titles for Zeus to read, ones that were held tightly to his chest. 

"Oh, and, uhm, those ones, too."

Zeus reached out and poked a finger to the back cover of the book on the bottom of the pile, just enough to send a short vibration into Bucky's chest. Bucky had, momentarily, forgotten about the books he was clutching for dear life to, eyes wanting to close and live inside that feeling of another's touch, even if it was felt through three books and two layers of shirts and scarred up skin. It was still felt. It was still another's touch. And, as much as Bucky wanted to protest and claim solitude and loneliness was all he needed most days, his heart and brain screamed at him that he was a fucking dumbass. _You're a fucking dumbass. Just, you know, for story sake...make that statement legit._

_Thanks. Can always rely on you to ensure the finer details make their way in._

_Anytime._

"Uhm. Oh. O...okay...ay. I'll just, uhm, bring these up, uhm, so when you're ready, uhm, I'll just, up front, uhm. Okay."

Bucky huffed, cursing the way his nerves swelled up his tongue, slipping his words over the backside of his teeth and stumbling their way out. His heels dug into the carpet as he turned and sped-walked _or maybe really half-jogged_ to the front desk.

Once he was behind the imaginary safety of the front desk, and Bucky fought with himself about just how noticeable it would be if he ducked underneath and hid from the rest of the world for a few eternities, he dropped the small stack of books ontop of where yesterday's newspapers sat. And, after a very long _or brief_ conversation with his lungs about the importance of functioning properly for the well-being of everything else in his body, Bucky found himself staring up into those _god damn, they're so fucking beautiful_ blue eyes. 

"Hi."

"Hi!"

_Did you just squeak?!_

_No! I don't know. Yes..._

"I think I'm all set."

"O...kay...ay..."

Zeus had reached into his back pocket and slid out a near pristine plastic card. His library card. Bucky clenched and unclenched his fingers at his side a few times, forcing sensation back into the flesh ones and keeping his actions symmetrical, at least, for the metal ones. He reached over and slid the small stack of books he had placed down across the desk, accidentally sliding the forgotten pile of newspapers with them. His hands split, one lifting the books up while the other slid away the papers with annoyance. Zeus handed the book he was holding over to Bucky and let his hand drop down to the newspaper his head flicked down to. Bucky placed the book on top of his pile and watched as Zeus' face grimaced as he looked down at the front page of the paper.

"Stupid."

Zeus lifted his head back up so quickly that Bucky feared of a whiplash injury. 

"What?"

Oh, fuck. That boulder pressed into the lining of Bucky's throat again.

"Uhm, what they're saying. About, uhm, the, the, Avenge...Avengers. About, uhm, wanting them to, uhm, you know."

Zeus' head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed. But, Bucky could see the faint smirk on those lips, and it instantly dulled down the panic rising up from his toes. 

"You don't agree with what they're saying?"

Not at all what he was expecting Zeus to ask. Well, he didn't know exactly what he was expecting Zeus to ask, or even say, so...

"Oh, uhm, well, no. They, they risked their lives. For something that wasn't, something they didn't bring, uhm. It wasn't, it wasn't their fault. That stuff, it, uhm, it happens. I mean, it could have, it could have been so much worse."

That smirk on Zeus spread wider and Bucky thought he saw Heaven's pearly gates for a moment _you know, if those really existed._

"Hmm."

Zeus handed over the plastic library card to Bucky. His fingers brushed along Bucky's, and _whoa_. Fire and stardust and warm ocean waters crashed over Bucky, sparking and igniting a sudden surge of life throughout Bucky's entire existence. A noticeable tremble rippled along his skin and Bucky was positive Zeus saw it from the short chuckle that came from him.

Bucky's eyes lost all depth perception as they tunneled into a laser focused vision of what his hands were mindlessly doing. Scan the library card. Beep. Open the front cover of the first book. Scan the barcode. Beep. Stamp the Checked Out card. Slip it into the inner pocket. Close. Open the front cover of the second book. Scan the barcode. Beep. Stamp the Checked Out card. Slip it into the inner pocket. Close. Open the front cover... _we don't need the play by play, you know._

_I was just adding the finer details to the story. Legitimacy, remember?_

_Not really needed here, okay?_

_Fine. Whatever._

Bucky collected the small pile and placed the library card on top, handing the stack over to Zeus. Zeus reached over and grabbed the pile, fingers falling just shy of touching Bucky's and Bucky had to aggressively bite down on the disappointed whine that wanted to lurch out of him. Zeus brought the books to his chest, arms wrapping around them protectively _just imagine them wrapping around me while we curl up underneath a pile of blankets, skin touching skin, lips touching lips, dic..._

_Whoaaa..._

"I'm Steve, by the way."

_Words, Bucky. Words. Hurry up._

"I'm...I'm...uhm, Buc...Bucky."

A lopsided smile broke over Zeus'...wait, no, Steve...Steve's face, wider than all of the other's that have formed throughout their entire interaction. 

"Bucky. Hm. I like that."

_What? What?!_

Bucky was staring. Again. Gaping. Again. Didn't even fucking care if he was even drooling, either. Eyes wide and brain hiccuping, trying with all it's mights to function. Wasn't working, by the way. _Nah. I've shut down. Blame blondey over there._

"I'll, uhm, I'll see you later? It was nice to, uhm, meet you. Bucky."

Bucky watched, staring/gaping/drooling, as Steve walked out of the library _holy fuck, send a muffin basket to the designer of those fucking jeans..._ Oh. And Bucky was under the desk again. Knees gave out. Baby giraffe. _God dammit._

"Steve."

It was whispered, and spoken to the empty library around him. But, it sounded perfect on his lips, tasted like the sweetest dessert on his tongue. The smile pulled at the muscles around his mouth, stretching them out for the first time in years, genuinely, happily. 

"Steve."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi https://rancidrat86.tumblr.com/


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter!
> 
> Warning, I suppose, for kind of panic attacks, awkward boners, doing some stuff in a public bathroom, lots of swearing and the destruction of a frustrating coffee machine.
> 
> I'll update tags accordingly.
> 
> Let me know what you think!

The library settled down into its usual creaks and groans, as the morning churned into afternoon. Time had moved both tediously slow, and space shuttle taking off break neck speeds fast, at the same time. Bucky's mind attempted to overanalyze the events of the morning _they happened, right?!_

_I think so. I mean, I'm not the best person to ask, but I'm pretty sure that was real._

Steve. Steve. Steve. Bucky had rolled the name in and around his mouth all morning, letting it slip and slide along the curves and taste buds of his tongue, sucking in all the sweetness it had to offer, sharp contrast to the bitter coffee from his dented thermos, like an oversized wad of Big League Chew gum, grape flavored, from when he played little league baseball forever ago. _Wow. Therapist Guy would be proud. Remembering a positive memory out of the blue like that._

_No. Shut up. I'm still considering putting a flaming bag of shit on his doorstep._

_Arson isn't a joke, Bucky._

_I wasn't joking. I'm very seriously considering it._

The doors to the library swung open as the newspaper delivery man stopped in to drop off the newest bundle of papers. He dropped them on the far edge of the desk, the smallest flick of his hand in a wave, and then he was back out the door. Bucky appreciated that newspaper delivery man. _You really should learn his name._

_But, it's easier this way. Besides, he looks like a guy named Newspaper Delivery Man. Why mess with that?_

Bucky liked their arrangement. It was one of the first few encounters where Bucky was by himself in the library when he met Newspaper Delivery Man. Bucky had been buried in a book, nose just inches from the pages, damn near mainlining the old dust sifting out from the pages _beautiful analogy, Buck. Honestly._ when the doors had opened up, much like they did today, and a man about the size of Bucky walked in, bundled up newspapers in his arms. He had on a baseball cap that was pulled down low, shadowing his eyes. It was near winter time, so the man had a few bundles of clothes on, bulking up his silhouette in a menacing way _it really wasn't menacing. C'mon. Don't tell the story like that._

_Are you telling it?_

_...no._

_Then, shut it._

Newspaper Delivery Man _seriously, I hate this name for him_ had probably greeted Bucky _he did_ but, Bucky was so engrossed in his newest literary find _he was dead to the world_ that he hadn't heard him. So, when the bundle of newspapers landed ontop of the desk down the stretch of desk from Bucky, well, for story sake, it didn't go well. _You jumped, screamed, hopped the desk and had the man in a choke hold before he knew what was even happening._

_I apologized, okay? Can we not bring this up every single time he comes in?_

There's a small grimace and slight twitch of neck muscles every time Newspaper Delivery Man comes in each morning, now, almost like a reflex of his memory reliving the moments of that morning. _oh my god. It was, like, a year ago, okay?! I'm better now._

_...are you?_

_I've already got a therapist._

_That you want to set on fire..._

_I didn't say I wanted to set 'him' on fire. Just the bag of dog shit I want him to step on. There's a difference._

_Yes. One is homicide. One is vandalism._

_See? A difference._

If Bucky could smugly fold his arms over his dramatically puffed up chest and nod his chin in a 'fuck you, I won this round' manner to his own subconscience...then this is where that would be happening. 

So, that's where they were at, Newspaper Delivery Man gently setting the papers on the desk in his usual spot, still down the stretch of the desk away from Bucky. Still lifting his hand and giving a quick flick of his wrist in a half-hearted wave, and then, still quickly turning on his heel and walking back out the door. Quiet. Quick. No words said. Just the way Bucky appreciated. _Aren't you supposed to be working on your daily interactions?_

_I did have an interaction today. Or, did you already forget about the ridiculous combination of ass, face, chest, face, ass, face, and ass that was standing in front of us?_

_Was ass and face really necessary to be said 3 times?_

_Did you see them? Yes. Yes, they were._

_We gonna bring up the blood to your head mantra again?_

_I've got enough of those to remember, okay? And, it didn't go well last time you tried to force it on me._

_Hah! No, it didn't!_

_I'm pretty sure my head isn't supposed to be laughing at me._

_I'm pretty sure you're, also, not supposed to be having this in depth of a conversarion with your head._

_Then, shut the fuck up, already._

_You say that an awful lot, you know?_

_And, yet, you still keep talking...shame. You 'bout done interrupting me?_

Bucky grumbled as he stood up, briefly wondering about his life choices that had led him to the moment where he was arguing with his head in an empty library, but, well, focusing on that too much brought up too much dust. He walked over to the end of the desk to slide the stack of papers over to where they usually lay near the decades old computer for whoever to grab one and read. His eyes glanced over the crisp headlines, absentmindedly scanning for any updated news of The Avengers _stop looking for them_ , or maybe he was just trying to distract himself from going back over everything that happened that morning with a fine toothed razor blade, nitpicking apart every dumb thing he said and did.

Bucky couldn't really pinpoint why he felt so strongly to how The Avengers were portrayed in the media. He appreciated and respected everything they did and still do for the safety of, well, everybody, without having been asked, not even once. And, for the media to try and paint any sort of grim picture as to who they are and the things they should answer for, it always left an uncomfortable feeling deep down to Bucky's bones. _They don't deserve that. They're doing what nobody else can. They're protecting us._

_I'm not arguing with you. I'm just here to be a voice of reason, that maybe you shouldn't be too invested in these kinds of things._

Bucky knew he shouldn't be as invested as he is, but he couldn't help it _or maybe it has something to do with the slight...no...massive crush you have on Captain America?_

 _Well, have you seen him in that all navy getup?_ And, even though so much of Bucky needed to be pulled out and away from everything that happened in just his own life, in some ways, pretty literally, he might add _he mights. Wait. That doesn't sound right. He adds. Yes. Add that fact. The one about having to be literally pulled away. Because, that happened. Add it._ But, there was still a small part of him, a leftover fragment, that still yearned to fight, yearned for that excitement and that innate, core deep motivation to save people. _Just not ourselves, apparently._

_Wow. Really? Not even noon-time, and you're heading straight for the Kick-Me-In-The-Nutbag psychological baggage shit?_

Bucky slid and adjusted the newspapers so they sat at a precise 45 degree angle perpendicular to the side of the desk. _trading one mental imbalance with another does not eliminate the preceeding imbalance. Do not bandaid the..._ Bucky shook his head, sharply, enough to flutter strands of his hair into his eyesight. Yeah, he should probably get it cut, but, well, he's not all that great with change. Whatever. It was enough of a distraction to quickly scrub the words of so many other people from his head. It was really starting to get noisy in there.

Bucky spent the rest of his work day shuffling around the library. He so badly wants to admit that he hadn't been eyeing the empty plastic stand where _To Kill A Mockingbird_ had sat hours before, and that maybe his fingers lightly traced over the hard plastic edges, wishing he could take the book's place and go galavanting around Europe, or wherever, with Steve instead. A few people had found their way in to pick up a needed book for some report for school or an elderly lady, or three, that needed a new fix of her literary smut novels, the ones with the Fabio looking hair half shirtless men on the covers and pages and pages talking about swollen members and erotic bathtub scenes _don't even start with that. You know you'd slather yourself up in the nearest body oil to roll around with that Steve guy and splash around in some bathtub with him if he asked._

_That's for me and my safe deposit box at Sperma Financial Banking to deal with._

_Renaming 'spank bank' to 'Sperma Financial Banking' does not get you out of being scolded about the repeated use of the term 'spank bank'._

_Spank bank. Spank bank. Spank bank._

Oh, shit. Bucky had better stop the self-teasing if his tightening jeans had anything to contribute to this self-argument. _Ethel over there is not gonna be too happy about you poking out an awkward boner while ringing her up._

_Actually, with that smirk..._

_STOP!_

Yes. Ethel gave another subtle smirk, and a not so subtle raise of her penciled in eyebrows as she raked her eyes up and down Bucky, head to toe then back up to his head again. She had to actually lean over the desk a bit to do so. Bucky's entire body screamed to dive underneath the desk and hide away with his Retreating Into His Body Steve boner, but he was afraid Ethel would get the wrong idea and try to join him. 

So, he just stood there and smiled, body tensing at the sudden attention on itself. If Bucky wasn't all that fond of change, singled out attention on himself was something that nestled in way underneath that one the list. Bucky preferred the anonymity of life, the shadows over the spotlight, the silence instead of the vocal. He just wanted to go through this life unnoticed.

_Except for by one blonde guy named Steve..._

And, thank fuck that Ethel took her five smutty books and left without attempting to climb Bucky like a decaying tree. _really? Decaying? That seems a bit uncalled for..._ It was enough of a distraction to help Bucky's mind forget about the fact that that was the first time he felt anything like that since everything happened.

\-----------------------------------------

Just as Bucky pulled the chipping away metal key from out of the library's door locks, his phone buzzed twice in his pocket. He grumbled, already knowing exactly who it was texting him at this time. Because, it was always the same. Bucky was supposed to stick to certain routines when he agreed to live on his own, but, well... _some people are taking that a little too seriously..._

_It's to help ease you back..._

"For fuck's sake! I got it!"

Bucky froze. His body conflicting against itself again had let the words actually slip out of his mouth instead of funneling back into his head. And, maybe they didn't so much as slip as trip and stumble right on out and loudly crashed against the glass of the main doors, soundwaves bouncing off and slapping him back in the face with just as much venom. 

His eyes shifted around quickly, secretly praying to himself _pfft what fucking God?_ that nobody was around to witness his little outburst. He exhaled deeply when he found he was alone, eyelids drooping slowly closed and he leaned forward, letting his forehead rest gently against the glass of the doors. The coldness of the rigid surface felt soothing, in a way. His body sparking up in flames from the self conflict, the coolness settling down the flickering flames to dull tealight embers. He squeezed his eyes closed tighter, trying to focus on the imaginary waves of oxygen floating in through his nose and out through his pursed lips. _When moments of anxiety strike, pursed lip breathing works best to help move the flow of..._

"I don't need bullshit mantras. I can do this. Just breathe, Bucky. Just breathe. Not here. Not here. Breathe. Get your shit together. C'mon. Man the fuck up."

_I mean, did we need that sexist-like remark at the end? Are you trying to say women can't be strong, too?_

_Fucking seriously, not the time. Chastise me when I'm five blocks down the road. Just, give me a fucking second right now._

He whispered over and over to himself, reminding himself to keep breathing, as the hardness of the cold glass stamped his anxiety attack across his forehead. His phone buzzed two more times in his pocket. If he hadn't been so focused on working to get his heart rate and respiratory rate back down to slightly normal levels, he easily could have ripped that phone from his denim pocket and watched in beautiful wonderment as it splintered to a thousand fucking pieces on the sidewalk. 

"For fuck sake, Beccs. I know!"

He unhinged the tighthold his eyelids had on one another and looked down at his pocket of betrayal. He dug his hand into that same bastard of a pocket and unearthed that piece of shit cell phone. With his head still pressed against the glass door, he flipped open the phone _fuck off, it was $20 at the store and I can't use smart phones...okay?_ to see the expected text message from his baby sister, Rebecca. 

**Don't forget your appointment with Dr. Phillips at 5:30 tonight. Call me afterwards. Love you.**

Bucky loved his sister, he really did. Even though he was three years older than her, she always had a protective streak over him. Even when they were kids. It only got worse when he came home.

Granted, she had initially gotten a letter and two sharply dressed military men at her front door telling her that her brother had been taken prisoner and presumed dead, only to find out that Bucky was still alive 6 months later _Surprise!_ , but was not in good shape, at all. In fact, Bucky wasn't even in human shape, anymore. No. He was missing more than half an arm and lost the keys to the doors inside of his head, the important doors, the ones that remembered his own baby sister's fucking name and face. So, he almost couldn't blame her. No, he absolutely shouldn't blame her. 

That had been a day, though. The first time she saw him after the whirlwind of shitty news, then great news, then, well, kind of shitty news all over again. Bucky wishes it had been one of the ones he couldn't remember all that well. But, nope, life has enjoyed taking things and rolling them all up into a vicious ball of thorns and oh so tenderly _like fuck it did_ right on up his ass over and over again. _Well, wait. That's not fair. Don't ruin the fun stuff like that..._

_Blood flow, Bucky._

Bucky can still see the look on his sister's face when she first saw him in that hospital bed. He had finally been able to make the trip over the ocean, whatever one it was, because he can't fucking remember, and was holed up in a stateside military hospital. Still missing that half an arm, and still not entirely sure what his own fucking name was. But, then, that curtain flew open and eyes that looked so much like his were wide with so many damn emotions all at the same time, that whatever progress Bucky thought he might have made at that point went and fucked right off back to where the scattered Bucky's Arm Confetti pieces were still laying about on that side road. 

Those emotions in those eyes all swirled together and spit out a murky, disgusting hue when she tried to reach for him in the bed and he flinched and tucked himself away into the smallest version of a human ball possible. _I mean, Guiness World Records still should have been called..._

It would take Bucky another 5 months to filter back in seventy-percent of the lifetime of memories he had built up to that point, old ones and new ones he tried to keep inside of his head.

The best? His baby sister, Rebecca...Beccs. He could finally remember her name and her face, and the way she burst into tears when he finally called her by her nickname. And how she never listened to hospital policies, staying by his side as much as she could. Flying in once or twice a month and spending long weekends and sweat soaked nights with him. Never pushing, never getting frustrated with him, or his accomplishments and Not Accomplishments. He wasn't allowed to call them failures... 

The worst? Well, aside from the whole POW thing and the torture and the missing arm and his friend dying in his hands...the worst...that his parents had died before knowing Bucky was still alive. They had died knowing their son was dead. THAT was a fun night when that memory finally stuck. After the 9th straight week of reliving the same loss over and over again. 

So, when Bucky was finally set up with a cheap-o claw prostethic and some of his memories, he was cleared to return home. He was set up with doctors and therapists and stuck in some trial program for advanced biomechanical engineering nonsense that fitted wounded veterans with state of the art prosthetics that operates out of some cellular site of Stark Tower. _Or, is it Avengers Tower? Whatever. Tony Stark's name is welded underneath my fucking armpit. And they're paying me a buttload of money to see if my spine with fry off or not with this thing surgically stuck to me._ The therapists and doctors visits took up the next 4 months of his life, every day, with mantras and homework fucking assignments and pills on top of pills and physical therapy appointments. Bucky would get up at five in the morning and wouldn't get back to his bed until nine or ten that night. And would have to do it all over again in the morning.

All while taking up the extra bedroom at Beccs apartment. Because Bucky's money was frozen. He couldn't touch it until he could prove he was of sound mind. And, after another long few months of doctors and therapists and bullshit piled on more bullshit, Bucky was finally able to move out on his own and live in some tiny little studio apartment, his choice, and started working at the library, just shy of a year of being back on American soil. 

Beccs used to ask if this was what Bucky wanted, almost daily, if he was happy. But, Bucky had snapped about six months ago, screaming unnecessary words and feelings that weren't really even his at her, and she has stopped asking. Bucky still feels guilty about that. But, she still sends him his daily reminders to go to his appointments. Short term memory is still a bit spotty for him, a twisted version of cut out polka dots on his small swatch of fabric cut out of his life, all crumpled and fraying at the edges, like some fucked up and moldy version of Swiss cheese. Beccs learned when Bucky would most likely be locking the doors to the library and would text him to make sure he started on his way to where he needed to go. The therapist's office and his apartment were in opposite directions. As long as she could catch him before he started walking, he would be heading in the right direction. There was just too much stimuli out on the sidewalk for Bucky to feel his phone going off in his pocket if he started walking. 

At this point, the appointments should no longer be considered part of his short term memory, as he's been doing it now for so long, and it's five times a week. That was another part of their deal. Therapy appointments every day. Monday through Friday. Saturdays were for physical therapy once a month, and left open if anything extra came up _like if my arm started glitching and taking on a mind of its own and killing people or something like that, I guess. I don't know. They never really talked about side effects. I should probably ask. Hmm. Remind me to ask about that._

 _Are you serious right now?_ And Sundays, well, he very strongly told EVERYONE to fuck right off about that day when they wanted to permanently pencil him in for some more awesomeness. He wasn't religious or anything, but he just wanted a day off from the world. If the doctors needed him to recite the Our Father prayer, then he would spit that right out at them, no problem. _You know you're part Jewish, right?_

_I am? Holy shit! Huh, who knew._

_Uhm, everyone?_

_Well, fuck them for keeping that to themselves, then._

So, Bucky expected the first message from Beccs. Even expected the follow up one, too. Well, he's pretty sure he expected them both. They felt familiar, at least, like he had read them before. 

**Eat food on your way. Please.**

Yeah, food was an issue, too. He forgot about that, alot. Living mostly on coffee and canned goods. Beccs used to get frustrated when he would look so gaunt and unhealthy, opting to hire food services to bring him one meal a day, at least. That was, until, Bucky accidentally forgot to close the door all the way to his apartment one time and the poor teenager delivering his dinner that night left wearing a pair of Bucky's nicest sweatpants because Bucky might have caused the kid to piss himself. _You grabbed him from behind and held a knife to his throat._

_He snuck up on me._

_You had a knife. To his throat._

_I didn't mean to. I just...I always have one on me._

_You were naked..._

_And....?_

After a very long and tear filled apology and a very large handful of money was shoved into the poor kid's hands, Bucky called Beccs and the service was cancelled completely. She sighed, slight frustration seeping through the crackling line before she steadied herself and told Bucky she would drop off some canned goods the next day. She cleared out half the aisle in the supermarket, making twelve trips from her car up to Bucky's apartment while he had been at work, to fully stock the place with variously labeled aluminum cans. 

He grumbled and peeled his forehead off of the glass door, a dull **thwwiipp** noise rang out as his skin plucked off and etched back into their worried forehead lines. He flipped the phone closed and shoved it back into his front right pocket, adjusting the strap of his backpack over his shoulder and started his fifteen minute walk to the therapist's office. 

\-----------------------------------------

Bucky dropped the backpack by his feet, sandwiching it between both his boots protectively. His fingers fumbled over the large panel of buttons on the steel gray coffee machine. _If you wanna even fucking call it that! Fuck! Why does there need to be so many buttons?! I just want normal fucking coffee!_

He slammed his flesh fingers down on the buttons again. _Great. Now the fucking light won't stop blinking._

The machine made another noise, then gurgled and spat something white and then green and then all the lights started blinking. Bucky tried to breathe, tried to focus on something else, but those fucking lights were just taunting him at this point. Mocking him and his inability to use current electronics just to get a god damn fucking cup of coffee. 

"Stupid fucking blinking lights."

\-------------------------------------------

"So, James, do you want to talk about what happened?"

"No."

Bucky was sunk so far down into the oversized chair that he was half expecting it to swallow him whole. Razor sharp teeth jutting out from the edges of the chair and gobbling him down in two easy bites. And, honestly, he was sort of wishing for that over having to sit in this damn appointment. 

"Can you tell me what happened with the coffee maker?"

"The lights were blinking."

"And, now?"

"The lights aren't blinking."

"You threw it against the wall."

Bucky shrugged. _To be fair, the lights are no longer blinking..._ He picked at the fraying seam of a rip on his knee. _Solid avoidance tactic._

"I'm just wondering if something triggered you into a situation where you felt unsafe."

Bucky glanced up through his eyelashes, steel gray eyes hardened and attempting their best Murder Glare. _Flaming dog shit. Flaming dog shit. Flaming dog shit._

_Bucky..._

_Suck a fart, okay?!_

"No. Nothing happened."

Bucky was shocked, insert overly dramatic Disney princess gasp, chest clutching and all, that he hadn't chipped away any of the surface of his teeth as he ground out those three words, vaguely surprised they didn't stutter under the clench his jaw muscles made. 

"I think we should take another look at your medications. It was, what, two months ago when we last adjusted them?"

Bucky brought his fleshy fingered hand up from the ripping hole in his jeans, up to the side of the chair so he could properly dig his nails into the fabric. He has learned. Doctors don't like it when you pierce your skin through layers of denim and cause yourself to bleed in the middle of an appointment. So, now he resides to a more blood free area...the side arm of the oversized creature chair _that was being an absolute fucktwat about not eating me alive so I don't have to suffer through this anymore!_

"Fine. Whatever you want to do."

"James, we've talked about this. It's important that you are making these decisions and understanding the choices you are making."

In all honesty, Bucky just wanted to go home. He really didn't want to think about meds or appointments or stupid fucking blinking lights on some piece of shit coffee machine from the damn future. He just wanted to go home. And think about Steve. And the way Steve looked this morning. And the way he smelled when Bucky walked past him. And the way Bucky's entire body came alive for the first time since he came home when Steve's skin brushed against Bucky's. And the way Steve's smile completely lit up Bucky's entire sky. And those eyes...those muscles...those lips...

_Oh. Oh, fuck. No. No no no no._

Bucky's eyes lifted up to the clock. Seven more minutes. _Not good. Not good. Haven't had a fucking sex drive in almost two god damn years, but, sure, fighting with my therapist about what crazy pills I should adjust is a great time to sport another Awkward Erector Pecker. Just great._

Bucky shifted in his seat, interlocking his metal and fleshy fingers together and dropping them in his lap. He knew if he started another fight at this appointment about his meds, there was the chance he could lose all he's worked so hard for in the past months. His apartment. His job. His chance at seeing Steve again. _Okay, that last part is fairly recent..._

_Yeah, but considering the current Southern Situation of Sinful Shame...he's fucking relevant right now. And if you even dare say one fucking thing about blood flow, I will take a pencil and shove it so far up my nose just to stab you._

"No, I understand. We can adjust. Keppra stays the same, though, right? Adjust the others by the same milligrams like last time and check back in?"

"Yes, James. We'll keep your Keppra dose where it is, so long as you still continue to be without any seizure activity. And we can adjust the others by the same milligrams and see how you feel it is working by the end of next week."

Yeah, Bucky wasn't going to adjust shit. He just wanted to keep the seizure meds where they were at. Seizures just aren't all that fun. For anybody involved. Bucky twiddled his thumbs around in circles, pressing the heels of his palms into his crotch, trying to forcibly send the blood elsewhere. 

Wasn't working. 

"Okay, James. As long as you have no other concerns you'd like to discuss tonight, I think we can call it a night."

"Uhm, okay. No. I mean, I'm, no, nothing else. Okay. Bye."

Bucky sprung up from the lazy creature cushion tongue and leapt over the side arm of the chair. He clung to his backpack at his belly button, covering Awkward Erector Pecker from the nervous as shit now receptionist in the waiting room and ducking into the bathroom down the hallway.

Bucky slammed the door of the stall closed, softly banging his forehead off the backside of the stall door, eyes slammed closed. He was trying to mentally will the blood flow elsewhere, and still with no luck. _You are NOT jerking off in this bathroom._

Bucky reached past his waistline of his jeans, loose from his lack of proper meal intake, and grabbed hold of himself, slipping the waistline of the jeans and his boxer briefs down with his metal hand enough to give him free range of motion. _Bucky, no. C'mon!!_ He didn't actually WANT to jerk off in a public bathroom, but as soon as he got his fingers wrapped around himself, all rational thinking trickled out and got flushed down the dirty toilet behind his shaking legs. Fuck, his knees were already trembling and he was only five strokes in. Either he was lying about needing to change his Keppra dose, or this was going to be record timing for how quickly he could cum. 

He tried to think of something else aside from anything Steve related, thinking that it might be risking teetering over that line of Wicked Fahckin' Creepy, Boston accent and everything, of jerking off in a public bathroom over some god-like man person creature that he had only met a few hours ago, and had barely said anything comprehensible to him. Thirteen strokes in and that additional rational thinking part of his brain floated right on down that dirty toilet behind him. 

_Oh god...those eyes...and...mmm...those fucking...ah ah ah...muscles and mmmm...his arms...and fu-fu-fuckkkk those lips..._

Bucky tried to hold in the predatory growl that slipped out of him. It echoed loudly against the tile walls. Bucky had half prayed that nobody else would walk in while he regressed back to his thirteen year old self and first discovered how amazing this all felt. But, Bucky, also, didn't want to stop himself. No. This was the first true healthish thing his uncomfortably silent libido had done since he came back. Not even just home, no, even back to the states themselves. When he was even struggling to remember his own name. It was almost as though his body just pushed any sexual desires aside to make room for remembering to brush his own damn teeth in the morning. _Well, don't forget about the awkward boner with Ethel this morning..._

_Are you TRYING to ruin this for me?! Do NOT ever mention Ethel when I've got my hand fucking over my damn dick, okay?!!!_

_In a public bathroom stall..._

_I'm well...ahhh...aware that the...oh fuckkkk fuck fuckkkkk...location is not...ahh ah ahhh...ideal...oh god, Steve, yes...yes...YE-_

Bucky's throat tightened down on the gasp that was working it's way up as he added to the questionable art and collection of fluid already painted on the back of the door. Bucky's right knee trembled, threatening to give out under the blissed out weight of his skin. Bucky opened his eyes, watching his contribution slide down the backside of the door. 

_Oh, shame and embarrassing guilt ready to wash over me? Sure. Have at it._

Bucky grounded his teeth as he wadded up toilet paper and wiped away any evidence he was there, flushing it away where his rational thinking had just gone to. He tucked himself away and swung his backpack over his shoulders, slamming the door behind him as he trudged out of the bathroom and out of the building back to his apartment.

_So, tomorrow, we work on impulse control?_

_...yeah._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi - https://rancidrat86.tumblr.com/


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey Steve. 
> 
> Please, excuse me, while I go and mess up this kind of adorable interaction and make things wicked awkward. 
> 
> Thanks,   
> Bucky

Four weeks had gone by. Four weeks since that morning Steve had walked into the library and damn near tossed Bucky upside down onto his head, or inadvertently caused Bucky to bang his head on the underside of a desk. Whatever. Minor details. Regardless. Steve had waltzed in with his stupid good looking looks _fantastic variation of the English language and all the endless possibilities of words out there for you to have had used..._ and knocked Bucky back a step, or six. And, even though it had been four weeks, and Bucky has had to walk by that same public bathroom 20 times now, _well, actually forty, if you count both ways_. 

Okay, Bucky has had to walk past that same public bathroom forty times since then. Since he jerked off for the first time in years. In a public fucking bathroom. Where he was pretty sure there was already sploodge shots from a couple different people. Yup. Bucky became That Guy. He didn't know he had that potential, but holy shit, did he fist fuck his way right into it with a soft Pre-Cum slick. 

_Hey, why don't we take the garbage talk down a peg or two?_

_I'm sorry, but don't these words come from the same spot yours do? Shouldn't I, technically, be asking YOU to cut the shit?_

Bucky exhaled deeply, dust skittering away from the fury of gas exchange and dancing away from him across the flickering sunrays streaming in through the windows and past the blinds. Yeah, maybe Bucky was feeling a little down. Not Back To The Hospital We Go kind of down. Just, well, _dammit, how fucking long was Steve's vacation for?!_ Maybe, well, yeah, maybe Steve came by and just dropped his books in the bin outside, refusing to come back in because Bucky was just that fantastically awkward and made such a terrible impression that Steve never wanted to see him again. _Seems legit._

He really needed to get over it. Push that blond haired gloriousness out of his mind for good. He shook his head quickly, strands tickling his nose, as he forced the name and image out of his iffy memory. 

Bucky clicked the mouse for the computer, feeling the slight stick of the button, where he had to jam his index finger down harshly against the skin oiled stain on the mouse. He was processing the few late fees that had accrued over the last month. A few names and book titles popped up. Nothing too serious. A few bucks here and there, much to be expected at $.25 cents a day. He eyed over the names, seeing if it was loaded with any of the Usual Supects _*obvious coughing* Ethel *some more obvious coughing*_. He scrolled through some more and felt his chest flutter. 

**Steven Smith. $1.75. One week late.**

Well, awesome. Of course he remembers such a generic name like that. Not what he had for breakfast this morning _wait, seriously, DID you eat??_ , but the first AND last name of his Mega Crush from almost a month ago! That just _fuck_! That means Steve is still on his stupid European vacation, drinking all that stupid fancy wine and eating all those stupid tiny plated food things. Why else wouldn't he bring back the crappy pile of crappy books that Bucky had suggested. 

Bucky's eyes widened and he shot his head up to face the ceiling, a small part of him believing in that Heaven area up in the clouds and thinking whatever spirit might actually be at all interested in the mundane crap his head conjures up anyway. Still, he had to be sure. _No, I'm sorry. I take that back. I would never actually mean that about anything you all had written!_

He brought his head back down and covered his face with his hands. He leaned forward, pressing the backs of his hands on top of the discarded paper from yesterday. He had read it over a few times, the bold headlines on the front page pulling him in.

**The Avengers. Saving The Day and Destroying It At The Same Time. Again.**

The papers had been his only source of distraction these past few weeks. He tried as hard as he could to push Steve out of his mind, so he dove head first _well, considering your track record with shit going wrong in or around your head, maybe avoid the whole 'diving head first' thing from now on._ into reading every bit of news that came out about The Avengers _and adorable 'ol Captain America._

"Yes, I know. He's fucking adorable."

Bucky mumbled into his hands as he pressed his forehead harder into his fleshy and metally fingers, forgetting that, even though he was alone at the time, he needed to remember to work on responding INternally and stop responding EXternally. 

A throat cleared somewhere around him. _Wait, was that you?_

_Uhm, no? Was it you?_

_I don't think so..._

Bucky rolled his head to the left, letting his eyes peek up from where they had been pushing into the desk in front of him. _Oh, cool. Steve's here. Why not? Perfect._ Bucky's head shot up so fast that he actually stumbled back a few steps, the momentum catching himself off guard. He bumped into the chair behind him, knocking it to the ground, and sending the contents of his unzippered backpack all across the carpet under his feet. 

Bucky froze. 

He knew exactly what fell out. And he knew it was in clear sight of Steve and his unfairly blue eyes. A half empty bottle of blue Gatorade. A half eaten protein bar that Beccs had snuck into his kitchen cabinets a week ago. A tattered notebook with pages ripped out, scribbled on, and oddly reattached. And, lastly, nine orangey-yellowey prescription pill bottles, cling clanging its stupid maraca wanna-be sounds all over the damn place. _La cucaracha...la cucaracha..._

_No! NOT okay!_

_Well, if you think about it, the song kind of describes you, ya know? A cockroach missing half it's limbs..._

_Did you just call me a cockroach?!_

_Technically, yes._

_Well, technically, fuck yourself._

Bucky just stared, gray eyes shifting into that aqua territory whenever they filled with salty tears. He stared at Steve. His body frozen and humiliated and he wanted to scream and cry and laugh and cry some more, but mainly duck underneath the desk and will the world away. 

"Uhm. Hi." 

Bucky wasn't sure where THAT command came from, but, whatever _good job finding words._

_It was a struggle._

Steve smiled gently at Bucky, offering a subtle wave and a quiet "Hi" in response. He stepped forward, taking one of those ridiculously long legged steps, like a rare Antelope sighting on the city streets of Brooklyn, New York. _Well, maybe a gazelle._

_Stop looking at his legs._

_Oh, right._

Bucky squeaked _I did NOT._

_No, you absolutely did._ and ducked down to the ground, whacking his head on the side of the overturned chair as he clammered to stuff the fumbling pill bottles back into the safety and anonymity of his backpack, away from Steve's probably judging eyes. _He's not judging you..._ Bucky kicked the backpack under the desk, somehow sending the just placed pill bottles back out into the freedom of open spaces, the rattle of them deafening his ears like some makeshift orchestra of Brain Chemically Altering Maracas. _La cucaracha..._

_Seriously?!? The cockroach couldn't walk because he didn't have back legs. I'm missing an arm, idiot. Not legs._

_You remember what a song in SPANISH is about...but you need help remembering your own birthday?!_

_It's a weird gift, I know._ He grumbled, panicked, grumbled again, then dove head first under the desk. A loud **thud** sent stars to float on down from the other side of the world and trickle into his line of vision. _Sorry, Japan. I stole your starry night sky._

_What did I tell you about diving head first?_

Bucky slammed his eyes closed, wincing from the twice, now, head injury pounding away beneath his skull, and feeling his heart start to kick up...he, again, wondered what the fuck was happening with the oxygen in this place _they really need to get that looked at_. His fingertips on his right hand started to tingle, feeling the sure signs of the impending panic attack flooding over him. 

Until, he felt two warm hands pressing down on his knees. _Whoa, hold up. I've only got one of those warm hand things..._

He slowly opened up one eye, cautiously looking around, before slowly opening up the other. Steve was sitting in front of him, on his knees, head bent at such an awkward angle to keep eye contact with Bucky, and two warm hands resting atop Bucky's knees, thumbs softly drawing circles on each. 

"Hey, are you okay?"

Bucky blinked. And then, stared some more. _Well, at least we're consistent with our interactions... Hi, Steve. Welcome to my under the desk hangout club. VIP access only. I'll make an exception for you to join me._ Bucky blinked two more times before realizing Steve probably didn't know morse code _neither do you._

_Shut it._

"I...uh...yeah. I...I'm sor...sorry."

"What do you have to be sorry about?"

Steve still hadn't taken his hands away. Those warms hands. Hands that Bucky's eyes had fallen down to. Watching, so intently and curiously at the way they had settled so easily against him. The way the warmth from within Steve's skin could permeate and penetrate _not a good enough excuse to use the word penetrate_ all the icy layers that were encasing his soul? Wow, was he that touch starved? Just some guy's hands on his knees were making him understand that, yup, he was desperate for touch. Or, was it just Steve's touch?

Bucky swallowed, attempting to get whatever drool or spit or words around that fucking lump in his throat, that damn boulder of nerves nestled right between the folds of his esophagus again. _Pick up your fucking crazy pills you idiot!_ Bucky squirmed out from underneath the warming touch of Steve's hands, leaving his fingers to twitch softly in the air for a few moments before they fell down to Steve's own knees with a quiet **thwatt** , a harsh noise in Bucky's ears to retell the tale for generations to come of how that securing bond shared between two strangers had been severed by Bucky's brain. _Well, that sounds like quite the bedtime story._

Bucky leaned over and around Steve, hands trembling as he grabbed at the scattered piles of pill bottles.

"I'm sorry...I'm, I know, uhm, this, I have, uhm..."

Steve picked up two of the bottles that had rolled near his waist, smiling gently at Bucky, eyes staying focused on him and not reading the prescription labels.

"No, don't worry about it. I was, uhm, I was really sick when I was a kid. This, uhm, I...I had, uhm, I used to have to take double this just...just to get up in the morning."

Bucky's hand stilled, stuffed deep inside the pulled open large pocket of his worn-to-shit backpack. He stared at Steve, eyes unblinking, thoughts racing, just damn near fucking marveling at this gorgeous, genuine human being that was being way too nice for Bucky's standards. _That's because you always assume people are the worst._

_Well, in my experience, they kind of are. Or, did you forget?_

_Low blow, Buck._

"I...I...uhm, I'm glad you're okay?"

God, Bucky was such an asshat. He blinked his eyes _finally_ , looking over Steve's relaxed features, taking in all the details he sometimes missed when his tongue was waging a war with his head. He noticed an abrasion covering the rounded top of Steve's left cheek, looking to be on the tail end of healing.

"Not okay."

Bucky found himself whispering the words as his fleshy hand was lifting up of it's own accord, reaching across the space between them, to let his fingers gently dance across the spatters of skin and scabs on Steve's cheek. It wasn't until he felt Steve push into his fingertips that Bucky realized what he was even doing. Bucky's steel gray eyes met with Steve's cool blues and seemed to be swimming in the depths of whatever kind of ocean found itself trapped within those irises. _Real poetic._

_I'm like god damn E.E. Fucking Cummings, alright?_

_...the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses...?_

_Fucking a-right._

_I'm rolling my eyes at you, just so you know._

_The fuck if I care right now._

Bucky gasped gently at the pressure beneath his fingertips, thankful he reached up with his own hand and not his metal one, so he could feel the warmth of Steve's skin. 

"Okay, now."

Steve's voice sounded strained, broken, but in a way that screamed to Bucky that it wasn't in a bad way, almost wanted. Well, as much as two entire words and Bucky's skewed understanding of social cues this time around could warp them into meaning.

Bucky's fingers trembled before pulling back abruptly, closing into a tight fist and secured against his own chest, metal fingers cradling them to his sternum, almost protecting the tingling remnants of the contact, and attempting to silently show Steve his apologies for touching him so suddenly. 

"I'm...I didn't mean to...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...shouldn't have done that."

Bucky lowered both of his hands back down, fingers still trembling from the jumbled, overflowing pile of nerves building up and toppling over inside of himself, grabbing at the rest of the pill bottles and carelessly shoving them inside the backpack. His chest lifted and deflated rapidly, air suddenly a challenge to grasp onto. He could feel the trickles of another impending panic attack swarming inside of him. His head was loudly shouting hurtful and self-loathing thoughts quickly, one right after the other, too fast for himself to even comprehend. 

Bucky's hands kept reaching for pill bottles that weren't there anymore. _Did I already pick them all up? Huh._ He stopped reaching absently around him, metal and real fingernails scratching at the rug fibers. _C'mon, Bucky, deep breaths._

_Wait. That doesn't sound like me. Why'd you change your voice?_

_That wasn't me._

_Oh._

Oh. That was Steve.

"Deep breaths, Buck."

_Well, keep fucking calling me that...!_

_Not helping._

Bucky's eyes shifted over to where Steve was still sitting in front of him. Under the desk. On the floor. Hands back on his knees. Thumbs tracing those imaginary circles again. Bucky could get used to this... _okay, not the freak out part._

"That's it. Nice and slow."

Bucky stared. And gaped. Like a weirdo. _Do you honestly expect anything different?_ Steve had a gentle expression on his face, his bruised and scabbed face. Bucky's finger twitched to trace it again and then his head decided to figuratively punch itself upside, well, itself...with the reminder of what the fuck just happened the last time he did that. 

Steve noticed Bucky's breaths evening out, and smiled warmly at him. He slid his hands off of Bucky's knees, and Bucky was certain he could still see the track marks of Steve's fingers along the denim of his jeans. _No, you can't._

_I absolutely can. Now, quiet. Steve might say something and I might miss it!_

"...and get you out from under here."

_God fucking dammit! What did I tell you!?_

Steve leaned back onto his heels, lifting up both hands for Bucky to take and help him to his feet. The sunlight shining in from those big front windows, along with the flourescent lighting above their heads, was too bright compared to the shadows underneath the desk. Bucky squinted briefly, cursing inwardly about brightness and light eyes, but quickly silenced himself when he noticed that Steve was softly holding onto both of Bucky's hands. Both. As in flesh AND metal. _Nobody holds that hand. Nobody._

_What about the doctors?_

_That's different._

_How so?_

_They get paid to._

Not even his sister does. Not for a lack of trying, though. Bucky can see it in Beccs eyes moments before she tries to reach out for Bucky's hand. He can see the focus and intent etching itself into her same gray eyes, can see the lift of her fingers. Bucky always takes those first few moments to subtly tuck his hand into his pockets or fold it underneath his opposite armpit, firmly crossing his arms across his chest. He always feels guilty about it, but...he just can't find comfort in the thought of somebody else touching the cold, cold metal of where his own blood used to flow and keep warm. 

He couldn't find comfort knowing he would never feel touch the same way, again. 

But, at that very moment, with Steve holding onto both of his hands with the same care and softness, with his eyes focused solely on Bucky's own eyes...Bucky had to keep reminding himself to breathe. 

"Hey."

"Hi."

"You doing okay?"

"Yeah, I...I think I'm okay...uhm, right...right now. Thanks, uhm, thank you."

Steve gently let go of Bucky's hands _aw, man_ , but didn't take a step back, standing just inches from where he had helped Bucky to his feet.

"You don't have to, uhm, no it's okay. I, uhm, I just, you know, wanted to see, uhm, wanted to make sure that you were, you know, uhm, okay."

Bucky smiled at him, a little lopsided and more of a crossbreed between a smirk and a grimace, but...it was something. It was enough to stretch a wide, pearly white smile across Steve's face in response. _Well, THAT'S dangerous..._

"I have, uhm, I have those books I took out a few weeks ago. I think, uhm, I think they're late."

Steve walked around the edge of the desk, putting the width of the desk back between himself and Bucky. He slid the small stack of books over towards the computer for Bucky to scan back in. Bucky slid the books the rest of the way towards him, opening the covers and scanning them under Steve's name. 

"Uhm, yeah, uhm, I guess, no, it, uhm, it looks like, uhm, you owe $1.75."

Steve smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling out a fistful of quarters _wow, like an old man counting out coins..._ and handing over the seven quarters Bucky needed. Bucky clicked the mouse a few times and settled Steve's account. 

Steve's fingers had reached over and angled yesterday's newspaper still resting there towards him, eyes flicking over the headlines. Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose as he remembered what the latest headline had said about The Avengers. Steve noticed, eyes flitting up to Bucky briefly before dropping back down to the paper, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"Still don't like what they're saying about The Avengers?"

Bucky looked up, meeting Steve's eyes when he lifted his head. 

"The media can go fuck themselves."

Steve let out a full bellied laugh, eyes crinkling and mouth stretching wide across his cheeks. _Well, if that isn't the best sound ever..._ Steve slowed his laugh, taking in a few deep breaths before looking fondly over at Bucky.

"Guess that answers that question."

Bucky smirked, lowering his head, watching his fingers twist and twirl with one another as he worked over the words in his head after already replying. Steve's eyes were warm, and inviting, watching and waiting so patiently for Bucky to say something, if he even was at all. It seemed as though, to Bucky, Steve wasn't expecting anything in response. 

Bucky looked over Steve's face, trying to decipher his reaction. Steve just stood there, eyes slightly wider, but still crinkling at the corners with the same warm smile on his lips. _Fondness! That's the word!!_ Bucky swallowed around that thick lump building up in his throat, adjusting his weight on his feet as the uncertainty of what to do with that adorable look on Steve's face being directed at him. So, he did what he does best...dropped his gaze and avoided any and all eye contact. _Like a champ._

"Guess I just, uhm, admire them, appreciate 'em, you know? Cap and all them."

Bucky kept his eyes looking down at his fingers, letting his words mumble out of his lips and shrugging up his shoulder, trying to push away the blush creeping across his cheeks. 

"So, you're a fan of Captain America, then?"

Bucky looked up, watching Steve, who seemed to be leaning forward across the desk, closer towards Bucky _no, you're imagining that_ and, did his voice drop a little bit lower?? _No, you're hearing things again. Maybe you should reconsider changing your doses on your meds, or, you know, actually TAKE them..._

_No. Fuck off._

Bucky didn't like taking his meds. He didn't like the way they made him feel. He didn't like the constant reminder of what they were there for, the things he went through that put him in the place he was now. No. No. Absolutely...no. If Bucky could growl at his own subconscience, then that's exactly what he would have been doing at that moment. Like a rabid wolf, teeth bared and lips snarled, hair standing on end...growling. _Wait, shut up, pay attention. Steve asked you a question about your imaginary boyfriend crush._

"He's not my boyfriend."

"No?"

_FUCCCKKK!!!!!!_

_Seriously?!_

"Uhhhh..."

Steve chuckled, eyes warm and watching the flush spread across every open space of Bucky's skin, dipping underneath the collar of his shirt. This was NOT happening. Bucky completely fangirling over some stranger he's never met to some other, basically, stranger he's basically drooled over for the past month. Ugh. He needed to get his head, and libido, seriously in check. 

Steve leaned back, a smile still playing on his lips. 

"How about some new books for me to read?"

Bucky tried to return the easy smile, but, of course, his head had to be a dipshit and ruin the party.

"Oh, you have another vacation coming up with your wife?"

Steve's smile stayed in place, something shifting in his eyes as he looked at Bucky.

"No wife."

_Oh._

"Oh, sorry, you're girlfriend."

_Really subtle, Buck._

_Nobody asked you._

Steve rocked back and forth on his feet again, hands clasping together behind his back, a smirk now twisting on his lips. 

"No girlfriend, either."

"Oh. Uhm, okay."

Bucky was unsure of what he was supposed to do in that moment. _How about pick out a few books for him, like he asked._

_Go away._

Bucky rounded the corner of the desk, leading Steve back towards the fiction section, then thought twice about it and turned towards the non-fiction. Because Captain America had, somehow, come to the very front of his mind, Bucky led the way towards his favorite history books on war. Bucky couldn't help but chuckle to himself about the irony of surrounding himself with pages and pictures of something so similar to one of the worst _one of the worst? Really? Shouldn't it really be number one, the top most worst experience in your life?_ experiences in his short few years? His head had a point. Fine. 

He twitched his fingers over the section of war, backtracking his feet to the 'space' section. Bucky was pretty sure this was something that always fascinated him, space, the sky, the stars, the planets...right? He used to watch the stars in the sky, used to try to count them all? That was real, right? Before he was stuck in that dirt field with...with... _what was his name!_ Was it a dirt field? No. That's not right. Why was he surrounded by all that dirt? Why was there a body next to him? Whose face is that? How many stars do you think there are up there? Why is there blood all over him? Was he bleeding? No, wait. That's not his. Where did their face go? What was that smell!? Where did his arm go? Why does he only have one arm? So many stars. There's so much dirt. So much dust. Dust. Dust.

_Library. Books. Dust. Breathe. Steve._

Bucky looked down to find his metal fingers locked around the spine of one of the books. He looked down to see the metal attempting to squeeze the existential life from the words of Stephen Hawking, and the life altering theory spilling out from between the pages of 'A Brief History of Time'. He quickly looked up to see Steve glancing over at him, worry etching into the blue of his eyes. And, maybe there was something else there, too...pity? 

Bucky growled to himself, hating the world around him for that quick fleeting moment. Hating that he was forced into this new reality that caused complete strangers to ave that look in their eyes, as though they knew what Bucky had been through. That, if they tilted their heads in just the right way and narrowed their eyes just so...that they could understand the chaos that was Bucky's world. 

And, Bucky fucking hated it. 

He shoved the book into Steve's chest, uncaring about the force and misplaced anger behind it. 

"This one is good. I'll be up front when you're ready."

He quickly turned, refusing to acknowledge the part in Steve's lips as his eyes widened, seemingly searching for words to say back at Bucky's sudden shift of anger. Bucky just stomped his feet on the carpet, making his way back to the front desk _like the petty little child he really was...again..._ Bucky huffed, bent down to lift the chair back up, and sat down harder than intended. He let his head drop back down into his hands and he cradled it ontop of the desk, squeezing his eyes closed and very loudly, internally, wishing the world the fuck away.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for panic attack, vomiting, awkwardness, and adorable awkwardness? 
> 
> Oh, stuff happens. There’s that, too.
> 
> This was supposed to be longer, but I think I liked where it stopped.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy it.

After what had been seventeen hours _seriously...it’s been, like, 3 minutes..._ Bucky had stormed off, those same worn out boots stomping along the carpeted floor of the library, getting himself as far away from Steve as possible. Bucky knew he was panicking, tiptoeing that same familiar blurry line between reality and warped memories. The last shred of sanity he grasped on to in that moment gave him the small, speck of sense to remove himself from judging eyes. _Steve wouldn’t judge you._

_How do you know?_

The rush of fresh air engulfed Bucky, swarming his lungs with that much needed oxygen the library seemed to be lacking in suddenly, as Bucky pushed out through the entrance doors. He gulped, trying to will his lungs to expand beyond their capacity, desperate for the soothing sensation the fresh air had on him. He tried to hold the newfound oxygen in his chest, but his ribs ached, bones protesting under the heaving his tormented mind forced his body into. He clutched at the collar of his shirt, pulling it down harshly, faintly hearing the tear and the stretch of the fibers of the neckline, muffled under the tidal wave of blood surging between his ears. _Breathe, Bucky. In and out. Slow it down. C’mon._

If his hands weren’t so preoccupied with tearing open the fabric of his shirt, Bucky would have easily clenched them into fists and bashed them against the sides of his skull _wow...rude._ He just didn’t have it in him to have calming conversations with himself and every other voice invading his head at any given moment. He just wanted to manage a single fucking conversation with somebody without having to resort to other people’s words pulling at him, keeping him back from that ledge he just wanted to look over, sometimes. _Just look?_

He slammed his eyes shut, forcing a red hue to bleed into the darkness, stars speckling across the muddy new color. When pangs of pain shot across the bridge of his nose and radiated behind his eyes to the base of his skull, he fluttered his eyes open, instantly regretting the action. The world spun, apparently no longer wishing for it to remain upright and see-sawed itself back and forth like some knock off traveling carnival ride that should have been taken out of commission back in the 70’s. Bucky could feel the ache in the back of his throat, the ever-familiar feel of the muscles tightening, then widening. He lunged over to the small shrubs nestled beside the rusted green Book Drop Off bin, using it’s rigidity to brace his metal hand against as he leaned forward and spat out whatever canned good he scarfed down the night before. _Chicken noodle soup. You know, for detail purposes..._ Three more toe curling heaves later, the entirety of the $2.45 can of soup managed to work it’s way back out of him. 

Bucky blinked. His knees stung from where he had landed against the pavement. Small, red scrapes had formed on his right palm from the cement and gravel beside his knee. His left hand had scraped small scratches against the chipped green paint of the drop off bin. He wanted to laugh at the fact that he managed to add some more destruction to that damn metal bin. He gently traced his finger along the dent just inches above the scratches, from one of his other moments of awesomeness and he swung at the flimsy lock on the top right corner. _Well, if my fucking key worked, it wouldn’t have happened._

_If you used the correct key the first six times, maybe it would have._

Bucky audibly growled, slowly bringing his fingers of his right hand into closed, tight fist, ignoring the twinge of discomfort the new scrapes made. 

_Okay, okay. I’m going. Geez..._

Bucky blinked again, slightly ashamed in himself for having another argument with his own head, and well, losing. He looked back down at the shrubs beneath him. Barely there remains of egg noodles and carrots shimmered tauntingly under the perfect summer sunshine over his shoulder. He breathed out heavily from his nose, allowing the fresh wave of guilt and embaressment wash over him. 

He sat back on his heels, wiping across his mouth with the back of his hand. He slowly stood up from the sidewalk. He kept his head down, eyes quickly looking around to see if he attracted any concerned onlookers. Thankful he hadn’t spawned another Pity Crowd this time, he hunched his shoulders back down and ducked inside the entrance door of the library. 

He stepped into the bathroom just off to the side of the front doors, trudging over to the sink without looking at himself in the mirror. He just didn’t have it in him right then. He splashed water on his face, cupped water in his metal hand and sucked it into his mouth before rinsing and spitting the horrible aftertaste of vomit and shame back into the sink, watching as it swirled and disappeared down the drain. He quickly washed over the reddened abrasions of his right palm, tugging down a handful of paper towels and letting them wad under his closing fingers as his own version of a makeshift first aid...whatever. 

He breathed out heavily from his nose, readying himself for the outside world, yet again, before walking over and grabbing onto the metal handle and swinging it open and walked back to the library itself. 

————————————————————-

Bucky gripped the desk, huffing and puffing about the rigidity it kept and solidarity against gravity it somehow maintained. How something so lifeless could manage to keep itself upright regardless of the weight pressed down onto and into it...yeah. Bucky was jealous. At least the damn fucking slab of wood didn’t buckle under the invisible onslaught of past memories that so easily shredded up all of Bucky’s inner most foundations. No. The fucking desk stayed upright. It didn’t slam hardcover masterpieces into the chest of some random _extremely hot... ugh, so not the time, right now_ stranger. 

Nope. That was a solely Bucky trait that continued to find ways to fuck into his waivering personality and alter his twisted fingerprint he would leave on this stupid fucking planet. _You’re getting really close to that dangerous part in your head, again. Breathe._

_When did I say you could come back?!_

Bucky closed his eyes and aimed his head up at the cathedral ceilings in the library. He pushed out the remnants of oxygen left inisde of his lungs out through his nose, feeling the rush tickle along the way. He took in three more long deep breaths, exhaling in between, before allowing himself to open his eyes and lowering his head back down. He did NOT want a repeat of earlier to happen inside. Getting puke out of the carpet would be way harder than the bushes out front... He lifted back up the shortly forgotten book in front of him, prying back open the covers and trying to find where he had left off. Bucky's eyes briefly caught the movement from outside the large windows on the front side of the library. A hot dog cart across the street had parked and the sides were being flipped open as an older man, Remy, set the grills to on. 

Bucky wanted to run across the street, exchange awkward and forced interactions with Remy, who was always patient and kind to Bucky. Even when Bucky's hands couldn't reach into his pockets, or couldn't count out the change he needed, or when a car would drive by and the exhaust was too loud or the engine roared with too much bass and Bucky's nerves froze and his entire body stiffened. Remy would gently count out loud to ten, whispering the numbers under his breath, just loud enough for Bucky to hear, as he softly wrapped his fingers around Bucky's, anchoring him back to the ground, back to reality. Bucky always walked away with more than his money bought, if he even managed to pay that day, hot dogs piled high with all the condiments and ice cold sodas tucked underneath his metal arm. 

And he would run back across the street, arms filled with hot dogs and sodas, and burrow his way into his latest literary find, munching away on his overstuffed and overcondimented _that's not a word, just so you know_ snack and disappear from the world for a little while. 

He wanted to do that right now. Maybe not the disappearing thing, but... _Well, wait...let’s think on that idea for a second..._ His stomach was even gurgling it's demands at him, echoing loudly in the somewhat empty library, since he, well, got rid of everything that was in there earlier. But, he couldn't. Because, Steve was sitting at the table down the other end of the library, nose partially shoved into that book Bucky had shoved at him and eyes wide in fascination at Bucky's most recent recommendation, having opted to remain at the library, even after Bucky’s quick little temper tantrum and lashing out at him. Bucky still didn’t understand how Steve was real. Like some kind of god damn superhero, all righteous and pure and amazing and junk. Like, if Captain America was a real person.

_You do know he IS a real person, right?_

_You know what the fuck I meant._

Bucky exhaled out through his nose, that was, also, partially buried back down in a book, while he sat at that stupid, secure front desk. His eyes kept glancing up over the splayed open covers, gray eyes dancing across the distance _creepily. No, it's not!_ to catch a glimpse _no, to gawk and drool. No. I'm not!_ at Steve without Steve knowing. 

"I can see you, ya know."

_Fuck, he knows!_

Bucky stuffed his face so far down into the book in a panic, his chin bounced off the top of the wood desk, clicking his teeth and sending sharp pains upward behind his eyes. 

"OW! Fuck!"

Steve jumped up, dropping the hardcover book onto the table with a dull thud as he quickly strode over, stopping across the way from Bucky, a desk keeping them apart.

"You okay?"

Bucky slowly stood back up, rubbing the underside of his chin with his flesh hand. 

"I'm, yeah, I'm...I'm okay."

"Oh. Okay. Good. I was, uhm, I heard and I was, just wanted to, see if, if you were okay."

Steve rocked where he stood, toes and heels alternating with supporting his weight _his thick and amazing, massive weight..._ , shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. _Stop looking at the front of his jeans, ya perv._

_But, I know what’s there._

_Seriously?!_

Bucky had to dig his fingers into his scraped up palm to keep his eyes from traveling back down the length of Steve’s body. He flinched slightly at the twinge of pain his fingers made, causing Steve to get that furrowed look on his face, that crease between his eyebrows. God, Bucky wanted to lick those worry lines away... _Bucky..._

_No. I’m not even sorry for that one._

The air between them became tense, awkward without their quick, stuttering interactions. So, naturally, Bucky’s body decided to help ease the silence and his stomach let out one of the loudest, most gurgliest _my god, do you actually know English, or are you just pretending at this point?!_ sound he’s probably ever heard. 

Bucky stiffened instantly, eyes widening and ears burning red. Steve seemed to freeze in place along with Bucky. Well, until he doubled over in a fit of giggles. Bucky still hadn’t managed to un-ice his bones by the time Steve stood himself back upright. Bucky wished the floor could have opened up right then and there, because, holy fucking shitfuck...that easy smile...the soft blush of color across Steve’s cheeks...the stretch of his lips...the way his chest rose with each panting breath... Bucky needed to sit down. Do something. Hide himself. At least, well, waist down. _No, my knees were tired. You know, from falling on them. Outside. From puking. Yeah. Puking. Lots and lots of puke. Gross puke. Puke puke puke._

_...it’s not gonna work._

_No help from you? Like, at all?_

_Nope. You didn’t listen to me last time this happened. You can deal with it your own way, again. Bye!_

Bucky stumbled back down to the chair behind him, sitting down with almost too much effort, forcing out a loud exhale from his lungs. He leaned forward, letting the edge of the desk hopefully hide his very, very obvious situation. 

“Hungry?”

_Fuck, for you, yes. Fuck, yes. Yes._

“Uhm...”

Steve’s wide smile remained stretched over his lips. He looked quickly over his shoulder and saw the cart outside the window, almost as though he expected it to be there. 

“Up for a long one?”

Bucky choked. Gasped. Spat. Whatever. He stared, mouth absolutely, one hundred percent gaping wide open, unable to form words to reply to Steve at that moment. His mind entirely blanking out on words, language, absolutely everything else in existence. 

“Remy makes ‘em the best around here.”

Steve, apparently, hadn’t noticed Bucky’s momentary lapse in speech. Bucky’s brain stuttered to a halt, only just finally clicking back on at Steve’s statement.

“You...you know Remy?”

Steve still had that easy smile on his face. Bucky really wished he’d cut that shit out. For biological fucking purposes. Jesus fucking christ. 

“Oh, uhm. Yeah. We go back a couple of years. What do you say?”

Bucky wanted to ask a million and a half more questions, but knew he needed to at least answer one of Steve’s at this point. 

“Uhm, I, yeah, okay. Sure.”

Bucky dug into his pocket, having to work a little more against the stretched out denim fabric to wiggle his fingers in. Steve reached out before Bucky could get all the way down to his last knuckles, waving at the air between them.

“No, no. My treat.”

Bucky dipped his head down, eyes slowly looking up to look at Steve.

“Are you, I mean. I can...I can pay.”

Steve kept smiling at Bucky, apparently blatantly ignoring every silent and mental protest Bucky had been screaming at him the past few minutes. 

“I offered. Like I said, my treat.”

Then, that fucker had the fucking nerve to go and wink, and Bucky swore he could feel the way his heart smashed into the confines of his ribs and sternum, the way it shook itself out and tried to get back into rythym with itself again. 

“Oh. Uhm, thank you?”

Steve huffed out a small laugh before turning on his heel and walking out of the doors to the library. Bucky watched through the big windows in the front of the library as Steve crossed over the street and greeted Remy like an old friend he hadn’t seen in a while. Warmth spread across Bucky’s chest as he watched the simple, genuine interaction between the two, somehow feeling the easy happiness wash over himself as well. 

He pulled his fingers from his pocket, letting his hand fall effortlessly to his lap. His fingers brushed up against his still hard dick, and he was thankful the library was empty at that gasp that escaped his mouth. He still wasn’t used to the new found presence of his once lost libido, but was finding its not-so-subtle reminders of its return to be extremely frustrating and, well, awkward as fuck. He silently thought to himself if he could sneak away quickly to get rid of it, but that thought left him as soon as he caught sight of Steve hugging Remy, hands full of hot dogs and sodas. _Well, there goes that idea.._

_Well, that was a stupid fucking idea, anyways..._

_Oh, so, you’re back?_

_No._

Bucky watched, curiously, as Steve was stopped steps away from where he had left Remy. A small group of teenagers, boys and girls, swarmed around Steve, waving and smiling with too much excitement for Bucky to understand from way over across the street. Steve had that same easy smile on his lips as he spoke to each of them briefly, smiling more when a phone came out and small flashes lit up Steve’s face. Bucky shrugged, figuring how easy it was to like Steve, that Bucky assumed Steve knew even more people than Bucky could imagine. 

Bucky somehow managed to lose minutes of time again, because, before he knew it, Steve was pulling the door open, somehow flawlessly with his hands both filled with crap. He was over to the desk before Bucky even had a chance to get up and attempt to help Steve with the door. 

Steve held up the hot dogs in his hands with a wide smile. 

“Join me for lunch?”

Bucky huffed out a small, shy laugh, lifting himself off the chair and following behind Steve over to the large table in the corner of the library Steve had been sitting at earlier.

Bucky took the seat opposite where Steve had been sitting, expecting Steve to return to the same chair. But, apparently, Steve had other ideas. He sat himself in the chair next to Bucky, allowing his body heat to radiates and warm along Bucky’s right side. Bucky lowered his head, focusing his every thought on to slowing down his breathing, and willing away every other intrusive thought that still wanted to, well, pop back up. 

Steve set the two hot dogs he had bought for Bucky in front of him, keeping two placed in front of himself. When he went to slide his hand back away from Bucky, Steve’s fingers traced softly along Bucky’s and Bucky couldn’t hide the sharp inhale. He flicked his eyes up, peaking through his hair as he glanced over at Steve. A soft smile played at Steve’s lips as he withdrew his hand and started working on eating the two hot dogs in front of him. Bucky had to look away instantly, refusing to give his imagination any more material for what he had planned for later when he got home. 

They ate in slightly comfortable silence. Bucky hyper aware of every noise he made and every noise Steve made beside him. When they both finished their last bites, Steve crumpled up the napkins and grabbed the flimsy cardstock containers, getting up from his chair and disposing the trash in the barrel beside the desk near the entrance. Bucky absolutely did not watch as Steve walked away...

When he came back, Steve sat back down in the same chair. Bucky was relieved, his right side had grown cold in Steve’s short absence. Bucky breathed in and out a few times, working the nerves out of his throat before looking up at Steve.

“Thanks...thank you. For, uhm, for lunch.”

Steve’s eyes lit up and Bucky couldn’t help but mirror the shy smile Steve had on his face. He, also, couldn’t help but notice the way Steve’s eyes trailed down from Bucky’s eyes, down to Bucky’s lips. Yeah. All that work at steadying his nerves was shot to shit...

“You have...”

Before Bucky could register what Steve had even started to say, he could feel the soft touch of fingertips gently tracing along the side of his mouth. Bucky couldn’t help but stare into the darkening blue of Steve’s eyes, feeling the way the library warmed almost instantly. The entire fucking galaxy burst into flames when Bucky watched as Steve’s fingers left the side of his mouth and disappeared into his own and sucked at whatever fucking condiment Bucky had smudged on the side of his face. Suddenly, Steve no longer had the bluest of blue eyes as the entire ocean of color that used to be there was engulfed in the darkest of blacks as his pupils dilated almost beyond their capacity. Bucky could only stare, mouth parting slightly, tongue flicking out to wet at his lips as he watched the way Steve’s finger popped out of his lips with an echoing reverbration against the library walls. 

Bucky absolutely made no attempt to move when he could see the small shift in Steve’s position, the way his shoulders squared to face towards Bucky, or the way his face leaned in closer and closer to Bucky’s. Bucky breathed in, forgetting exactly what to do next, when Steve’s lips met his and the entire world dropped out from beneath the two chairs they were sitting in.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wicked sorry about the delay in getting this out. And wicked sorry about the very short length of this chapter. Pregnancy is not cooperating with me...and my kid is sucking the life force out of me. 
> 
> I’m hoping maybe he’ll let me have a few moments where I can get back to me, but not sure if that’ll be anytime soon, so I’m sorry for the horribly sporadic updates!

Bucky wanted to crawl onto Steve’s lap, just entirely give himself over to him like some version of whatever needy little play thing that wanted nothing more than to be taken apart slowly, with enough graphic detail that would make him burst into a thousand flames and embers or whatever the next time he waltzed into whatever religious-ey building he happened to pass by.

_Do you hear yourself when you speak?_

_Unfortunately, yes. All the time._

_Maybe you should focus on the hot blond still attached to your lips._

_Ha! So you DO think he’s hot, too!_

_Bucky, focus._

_Oh, right._

Bucky had absolutely not envisioned every single detail of this moment _yes you did_ , and so far, the way Steve’s lips felt pressed up against his was even more than his wrecked little head could ever have dreamt up _hey! That was rude._

Steve pulled back, eyes almost lovestruck, in a way, before they widened into something Bucky couldn’t quite grasp at that moment. Steve pulled back, aggressive enough to rock his own chair back on just two of its own legs. He stared over at Bucky, mouth pink but opened in a Not About To Kiss You Again kind of way. 

“I...I shouldn’t have done that.”

Bucky could only stare back. His head tried to wrap around what the fuck exactly just happened. But, before words could form in his mind, Steve’s cell phone beeped and pinged and was being completely fucking shitty at interrupting whatever the fuck was going on between the two of them at that moment. Steve all but lunged at his phone, clicking whatever fancy buttons he needed to and his eyes flickered back and forth across the screen in an almost rapid fire sort of way. Bucky could do nothing but just continue to stare.

Steve exhaled deeply, eyes closing and tension coiling up into his shoulders. 

“I have to go.”

Steve’s voice slipped out of those just-kissed lips in barely a whisper. Bucky was shocked _SHOCKED!_ he actually heard those four words at all. And, almost just as quietly as his voice, Steve lifted himself from the chair and made his way across the empty library and out the door. Bucky stared. Stared at the empty seat next to him. Stared at the empty space where Steve’s massive body had filled just moments before. 

It wasn’t until the loud slam of the heavy wood of the library door closing that startled Bucky enough to drag him back into the turbulent reality that was crashing in around him. Just as the ground beneath him blurred away for all the best reasons, the entire world came back into harsh focus to crash down around him. The lights were suddenly too bright and the flourescent bulbs began to scream at him, hissing and moaning as the electricity poured through them. The walls warped inwards and outwards, almost as though Bucky was stumbling through one of those open field carnival fun houses with the mirrors distorting his every sense of being. He could almost imagine the deformed faces of the makeup smudged clowns poking their heads out from the shadows to scare the breaths right out of him. 

But, hasn’t that been his entire life since waking up in that dank and dusty hole in whatever fucking country he was in? ...just waiting for some ‘thing’ to come bursting out from the dark shadows in the corner of that room to break another piece of him away? ...to watch as he unraveled and fell apart inch by inch by inch by fucking inch? What’s one more shadow creature lurking and waiting? What’s one more broken off piece of the man he used to be? What’s one more? One more? One more....

_Bucky...you need to breathe..._

No! No fucking more. No more talking in his head. No more letting the world be too loud and too...just too fucking much anymore. No more. He couldn’t do this anymore. He just...couldn’t. 

He pushed himself up from the desk, feeling and hearing the chair fall to the ground behind him with a dull thud. Bucky didn’t care. He damn near ran over to the desk, grabbing his backpack up off the ground before retreating into the back room and slamming the door closed behind himself like a tiny, pissed off, tantruming _not a word... FUCK OFF_ child. Bucky just didn’t fucking care anymore. 

He gripped the tattered fabric of his backpack to his chest as his back slid down the far wall in the closed off room, shirt riding up just enough to expose the small of his back above the loose waistline of his jeans, allowing a soft, cooling breeze wash over his skin. His arms enclosed tighter and tighter around the backpack, feeling the hard plastic edges of the thousands of pills bottles inside of it digging into his arms. _Okay, there’s not thousands..._

_Stop it._

_And, arms?_

_I said, stop it._

_You know you can’t feel them on your left..._

“I said STOP IT!”

The room echoed loudly, cleaning bottles rattling on the shelving next to his head. His ears rang with the sheer volume and ferocity his words created in the tiny room. His ragged breathing chanted back to him from against the walls, masking the pounding his heart was making inside of his chest. 

His fingers shook as he fumbled an arm loose and reached into the pocket of his jeans. The screen on his cell phone blurred, letters seeming to jumble together as he punched in on one of the few numbers in his contacts list.

“Bucky?”

The voice on the other end sounded concerned, familiar. It took Bucky a moment for his fucked up little brain to catch up to his own muscle memory.

“Bec...Beccs...”

Heavy breathing again. Why was Becca breathing so loudly? No. Wait. That was him, again. No. Still. He was still breathing like that.

“Bucky?! Bucky, are you okay? Where are you?”

Bucky tried to force his tongue to unstick from behind his teeth. When did it get so dry in there? Was he...was he back in the desert? Where did all the lights go? 

“Bucky? Are you still at the library? Don’t move, okay? I’m coming. Please, just stay right there. Bucky?!”

When did the floor turn to dirt? Why did he feel that cold breeze? When did it turn to night and the desert sun went away? How long has he been down there? When...why was it so hard to breathe? Why did he go back? Why is he back...

—————————————————————

Bucky blinked, eyes unfocusing with each passing moment. When did he get in the backroom? Why did he have his backpack in his lap? Why was his cellphone open in his hand on the ground? Why the fuck was his ass so numb? 

The door in front of him swung open. The doorknob slamming into the drywall behind it, denting the wall from its force. The light from outside the room blinded Bucky for a few seconds before refocusing on the silhouette in front of him.

“Bucky!”

“Beccs?”

Becca kneeled down in front of him, hands reaching out to hang up the cell phone and touch his fingers gently. Bucky could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, eyes slightly red and glistening as though she’d just had a really good cry. 

“Bucky, what happened?”

Bucky just stared, eyes blinking and mind blanking. 

“I...I...I don’t...”

Becca sighed, arms reaching up and wrapping around Bucky’s neck tightly, body easing and wrapping around him protectively. She pulled back, rocking back on her feet before standing and reaching out a hand for Bucky to take.

“C’mon.”

——————————————————————-

“James, can you tell me what happened today?”

_No._

Silence. Nope. Wait. Scratching. That stupid fucking pen against that disgusting yellow pad of paper. Bucky’s eyes wandered quickly to that pad of paper, wondering what the hell Doctor Person was writing down, but then opted against really finding that out. Not something he really wanted to know. 

Bucky curled up onto the couch, turning his back on the doctor, pulling his knees up into his chest and slamming his eyes closed. Maybe, just maybe, if he squeezed them tight enough, the world would stop pressing into him. For a few seconds, he cursed the doctor for exchanging that useless monster mouthed chair for a new, squeaky and sticking leathery open sea of upholstery...just waiting for Bucky’s lost mind to wade out into its choppy surfaces and let the daunting task of surviving swallow him whole. _Fuck the ocean._

_You used to love the water._

_I did?_

_Yeah, Buck. You did._

_I...I don’t remember._

_It’s still in here. I promise._

Bucky exhaled deeply through his nose, feeling the overwhelming and exhausting tension ease away slightly with his own self promise to remember all the things he couldn’t. It was short lived, though. Bucky could feel it. He could feel that overwhelming boil deep inside of his stomach. The wave upon wave, folding and lapping into itself, brewing a tsunami of gastric acid and stomach bile, churning and rising under his skin, threatening to crash and drown him with another night being spent in front of icy cold porcelain with rusty stains and weeks worth of filth his mind hadn’t been able to process enough to clean away. He hated those moments. The ones were his body betrayed his delicately healing mind and warned to nose dive back into that shallowy and simultaneously deep abyss of forgotten and all to vivid horrors and memories of a life Bucky was forced to breathe into. 

“James?”

Bucky blinked, eyes shifting back into focus at the scratched away brown leather cushion in front of him. 

“What?”

“Do you remember anything about what happened earlier today?”

Steve. His stupid face. And his stupid mouth. And his stupid fucking lips. And the stupid way he looked when kissing. And the stupid way it felt when he was kissing. And the stupid way it should have kept going. 

“Yes.”

Bucky could feel the level of annoyance slowly rising even with his back turned.

“Do you want to talk to me about it?”

“Nope.”

_Ha ha. Sucker._

Bucky could feel the frustration radiating from behind him. It was subtle, but it was there.

“James, it is important...”

“It’s important that I discuss triggering situations and use my healthy coping mechanisms to help further my metal health and well-being. I know.”

Bucky hated the way his voice sounded, the monotone volume and drawl that left him feeling just slightly more lifeless than moments before. It wasn’t Doctor Person’s fault that Bucky slipped and blanked out for however long a span of time earlier. It wasn’t Doctor Person’s fault that Beccs apparently called him up and asked to see Bucky earlier than their usual time. At least, that’s what Bucky was assuming. The way the light was shining through the half opened window wasn’t the same as it had been. Bucky wasn’t really entirely sure about even getting from the library to the doctor’s office...at all. 

“I...I just don’t really feel like talking about it right now. Can I...can I just skip over that part today?”

Bucky scratched at the sticky leather. He could feel whatever remaining energy left inside of his skin buzz and vanish through his pores. 

He just wanted to go home.


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa. I’ve updated. Finally!
> 
> Sorry for the wicked long delay. I popped out a kid, and he let me have a few moments to myself to get this chapter sorted out! 
> 
> This one has Steve’s POV. There may, or may not (there totally is) some of Sam’s POV in here, as well. Because, I love Sam. I’m a little nervous about how he comes across, because, in my head, this is how he sounds. My lovely friend talked me through my worried-nesd about it. I hope it doesn’t come across all over the place. 
> 
> I’m hoping it won’t take me, like, six months to update the next chapter. But, in the most unshocking of news, my kid is a bit of an asshole and enjoys stealing up all of my time.
> 
> ((Not gonna lie, I’m eating ALL of it up, too.)) 
> 
> Enjoy!!!! 
> 
> Let me know how you feel about it!

Bucky tried to lick his lips. The air was so dry. Why was the air so dry again? Why was the air always so fucking dry...

Click, click.  
Adjust.  
Look.  
Adjust.  
Click.  
Pressure. 

The sting against his shoulder. The sharp echo in his ear. The whir across the landscape. 

Headshot. 

A little to the left of center. Success. 

The lick of desert sand across his lips. The heat of the sun shining down on him. It was so hot. So hot. Enough to make him sweat, only to, in turn, make him dry out as much as the mountains of sand all around him. Brown and unforgiving. Scorching in the searing blaze of the afternoon. 

Click.  
Click.  
Adjust.  
Pressure.

Two down.

Two more to go. 

The stench of dirtied clothing, faint traces of body odor, sweat stains trickling across worn out fabric... For an instant, Bucky can feel the damp coolness of the dirt floor. The cold sweat coating across his skin forcing him back into horrid nightmares of an empty underground burrow of a cell, where the walls leaked sadness from within itself and the ground muddied him with hopelessness that caked his skin. The barely lit air giving him blurred misconceptions of what time of day it is. _Don’t kid yourself. You have no idea what fucking time it is. Or, what day it is. Or, what year it even is._ Hushed voices speaking in rushed languages his broken mind couldn’t translate properly. ...and he had always been so good with languages. 

His fingers of his right hand dug into his skin along his thigh. The sharp edges of his nails attempting to puncture the flimsy skin covering over his bones. Something. Anything to feel. They bent away from the pressure, not enough nutrients in his body to even keep his nails strong. The infection that was spreading across his left shoulder had been causing internal panic amongst his organs. They were all tired. So tired.

Bucky was just so tired. 

But, the world wouldn’t stop. He wanted to crawl into the blackness that was just outside of his reach. The numbing darkness taunting him alongside his vision, teetering on the cusp of drowning and swallowing him whole. He just wanted to reach out and let the tendrils of the wisping nothingness to finally wrap themselves around him and pull him in and let themselves suffocate the last struggling breaths out of him. 

He awoke in a flutter of heat stroked and cold boned memories. 

The tv is on, but the volume is down just low enough, the voices almost whispers, to keep Bucky from realizing he’s alone. The soft lights keep the room illuminated. Bucky still can’t be kept in the dark. It has to be around 3 in the morning, judging by the infomercials for air fryers and fancy pots and pans being advertised on the screen.

And, Bucky is wide awake.

And, currently, face down in the heaping pile of dirty clothes tossed to the corner of his tiny bedroom. There was a mattress in the room, pushed up against the opposite wall from where his makeshift bed was. He had tried sleeping on the brand new mattress his sister insisted he have. _Pretty sure the doctors all said the same thing...don’t be blaming just Beccs on this..._

_Shut the fuck up._

He lasted a solid thirteen minutes on that squishy as fuck surface of that bed. There may, or may not, _THERE MAY...ABSOLUTELY MAY..._ also be a couple pieces of the once-intact box spring currently resting up against said mattress as well. _Why are you lying to these people?! You fucking punched the shit out of the boxspring after tossing the mattress across the room after those thirteen minutes._

_I was using details sparingly._

_Why do you only spare the details when they make you look bad?_

_I’m pretty sure all of these one person conversations don’t paint me in the best of lights assmunch._

_Assmunch??_

_It’s 3 in the fucking morning. Leave me alone._

As Bucky finished digging his half asleep body out from the festering pile of body odor, the TV flicked back to a breaking news flash. 

“Captain America and the rest of The Avengers headed back home after saving the planet from otherworldly threats.”

Sitting up at the shoreline of where his mountain of dirty clothes and the wooden floorboards of his bedroom met, Bucky ran two mismatched hands down his face, huffing out an exhausted breath of wasted air into the space around him. No chance in hell he was getting himself back to sleep. And, no chance in hell was he going to think about Captain America in that fucking get up of his looking all dirty and bloody... _getting dangerously close to that blood and where it goes section of thinking...._. No. He was just not in the mood for thinking about any of those Avenging Assholes...because that made him think about conversations with Steve. And, that was the last fucking person Bucky wanted to think about right now.

He looked over at the alarm clock placed on the floor across the way, black power cord swirling and tangling in on itself as it reached up to the outlet partway up the wall. Red digital numbers, _because the ticking of a regular clock caused him to have a wicked fun panic attack that lasted longer than the fucking Duracell Bunny could beat on that stupid drum strapped around his stupid fucking fuzzy pink neck of his..._ burned into his eyes, **3:38**. Nope. Definitely no chance of him falling back to sleep. 

He pushed himself up off the ground, feet still in half tied up boots. He shrugged on a worn out jacket and shuffled as quietly as he could across his small apartment, opening and closing the door gently behind him.

Stepping out of the front door to his apartment building, Bucky stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, tightening the fabric around his body. It wasn’t extremely cold out, but cool enough to warrant the extra layer. And, well, Bucky just didn’t like the cold all that much. _Y’know...memories and shit._

_Yeah. I think they got it._

Bucky set off down the sidewalk, no actual destination in mind. He, sometimes, enjoyed the loneliness of walking along the streets that are typically chaotic and overstuffed with people ans conversations...and expectations. Bucky wasn’t so great with any of those things. Hell, his first major interaction with a total stranger had the dumb fucker wretching himself back away from Bucky fast enough to knock over fucking furniture. 

No. Fuck that guy. Fuck Steve. _Were we not trying to do that? I thought that was exactly what we were trying to do..._

_Shut. The. Fuck. Up._

—————————————————

Steve let his head fall back against the metal frame of the quinjet. His ass had started to go numb two hours ago from sitting in the seat for too long, but Sam was stabbing Steve with daggers that were somehow masked as eveil eye glances. It was weird. He didn’t know Sam could do that...make his eyes turn into sharp objects that could penetrate into his moral compass. Whatever. Hence the head tilt back and his eyes slammed as shut as possible. Tight enough for him to see red behind his eyelids. 

But, Sam, also, knew about what Steve had done. Oops.

Kissed the cute librarian. Kissed him even though the said librarian hadn’t been able to figure out exactly who Steve was. _’Okay, that one I can let slide. Boy can’t be all that bright if he doesn’t know you’re Captain America by now...’_ Steve couldn’t help the smirk from itching itself across his lips at that memory from Sam’s half hearted approval of Steve and The Cute Librarian Saga. Bucky not knowing who Steve really was...was kind of nice. Steve could just be...Steve. 

Or, well, Steve Smith. But, minor details. 

Except when Steve kissed Bucky. Then bolted. That one...not so much of a minor detail. That one, yeah, that one was a pretty fucking massive detail.

Okay, wait. Not bolted because of the kiss. No. The kiss was...was...let’s just say, Steve could feel his lips tingling all the way through traffic and through Tony’s overly animated speech about whatever obscenely inhuman obstacle they were about to face and has continued tingling even after six hours being in the air in the claustrophic metal tube thingy hurtling them across the sky and oh shit, Steve was hyperventilating. 

Wait, can he do that? He thought the serum cured his messed up lungs from all the not-awesome things lungs could do. Like, right now, seizing up on him. What the actual fuck?! His eyes opened too wide for comfort and the look of panic must have been easily read because Sam was sitting up a little straighter in his seat opposite of Steve. Still staring daggers, but...less sharp ones. Like, maybe ones that have been used for too long and haven’t gone to the grinding wheel ever and might have some slight rust to them. Steve probably figures Sam would be slightly delighted at the idea of tetanus for what Steve had done, even though tetanus wouldn’t even consider touching Steve’s blood. He’s pretty sure his red blood cells would absolutely fist fight the fuck out of tetanus. 

Getting off topic, there. Steve breathed out heavily, appreciative of the short distraction to keep those loaner lungs in check. Okay, 70 years probably null and voids the notion of ‘loaner lungs’ since the serum shit was pretty permanent...

“Still with us there, Cap?”

Oh. Yeah. Sam. Rusty daggers. Bucky. Kissing. Oh, fuck. Quick breathing again. 

“Yeah. No. I...”

Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lowering his voice so just Steve could hear.

“Listen, man. Just wait until we get back and talk to your boy. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Now, it was Steve’s turn to stare daggers. They may have actually been butter knives, because...well, it’s Sam. Steve would fight the entire fucking world if anything dangerous came near Sam. Yes. Let’s all love Sam and appreciate him for the wonderful human being he is. 

But, right, daggers. 

“And how exactly am I supposed to explain why I just up and left him. After I kissed him?!”

Steve quickly replayed the memory of how easily he blurted out what he had done. After grabbing all of their gear and heading to the waiting jet, Sam had simply said “Hey” to Steve while walking in step with him. Steve startled at the sudden voice, and body, and Earth being near him and squeaked in the most inhumanly sounding way possible “I kissed him”. 

Now, if you can imagine the most ‘Fuck, I Don’t Get Paid Enough For This Bullshit’ look somebody could have...well, that’s the look Sam had staring down Steve. They had both stopped midstep and had slowly turned to face one another. 

Steve...six-foot something, ginormo blond puppy dog decked out in red, white and blue.  
Sam...probably six feet, made up of muscles and pure loveliness.  
Standing. Squaring off, almost. Grown ass adults about to talk about middle school crushes and first kisses. Yeah. Cue the trademark look. 

“You...what?” Sam blinked. Heavily.

Steve gulped. Literally gulped. 

“I...I kissed him. Bucky. I....I kissed him.”

“Ooo...kay.?”

“And then I fucking ran!”

There are times in a man’s life where he finds himself questioning how the fuck he ended up in certain situations. That moment was right then for Sam. Standing feet from Steve who had literal fucking tears about to burst out of his fucking eyeballs and even had the lower lip tremble motion going...a literal kicked puppy. Pretty sure if Steve had dog ears, they’d be flopped so far down, they’d touch the fucking floor. 

But, then Sam had to remind himself how happy Steve had been the last few weeks. There had been something different about Steve, and it took up until a few days ago for Sam to finally drag it out of Steve. The big dumb loveable doofus had a massive crush on some dark haired and quiet and blushy (Steve’s words! Steve’s words!!!! Sam needs that to be explicitly explained!!) librarian with the funny name and adorable smile. Oh god, Sam knew way too much about this whole situation already. But, yeah, Steve was...happy. 

Finally. 

So, that’s why Steve figured Sam was tossing daggers at him like some damn ninja tossing those nifty ninja stars. How do they not cut themselves throwing those? And where do they hide them? Wait. No. Move on. Yeah, he’d been happy. Something about Bucky brought out the light inside of Steve that had been overshadowed for so long by the looming monument of Captain America. Steve Rogers had long since been tossed to the side and only Captain America remained in its place. 

It had become very lonely for Steve. And exhausting. Trying to live up to ridiculous standards and play along to ideals that, as far as Steve was concerned, died along with him in that ice years ago. He was finding it more and more difficult to fight for and protect a country where every moment, people were pitted against one another and there was so much anger and violence that it damn near took his breath away when he watched the news. So, when a shy, clumsy, blue eyed man grumbled into his life...Steve fell. And hard.

The soft touches. The stolen glances. The racing, pounding heart every time Bucky so much as looked in Steve’s general direction. The kiss...... Oh god. Steve was such a fucking idiot. He had worked up the nerve to just TALK to Bucky. Then, he was working his way towards asking to see Bucky outside of the library, but ended up kissing him. Like the impatient ass he really is. And, holy jesus on a fucking cracker, was it the best kiss he had ever had. But, no. Somebody in some fucking dimension was threatening something and called Steve away. So, he muttered the dumbest fucking words he could have strung together.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

Are you fucking kidding me?! Shouldn’t have done that?! No, Steve, you ABSOLUTELY should have done that. On a date. Because you’re a fucking gentleman. Then you could kiss him over and over and over again until neither of you could fucking breathe. And it would be amazing. And...and...

And Steve fucking ruined it. 

Sam, bless his annoyed little heart, was trying to verbally pull Steve back from that figurative ledge in his head. 

“You might not be able to get away with being Just Steve anymore. Not if you want this to go somewhere.”

“What if he hates that I’ve been lying to him?”

“Well, apparently, he’s a fanboy of Cap anyways. That could play in your favor.”

“I’m not gonna use whatever symbol the country...the world sees me as...to try and manipulate him. I want him to want me. By himself.”

“Steve...from what you’ve told me...I’m pretty sure he’ll jump your bones the instant you look at him.”

Steve thought about that fact for a moment. Was Sam right? Could he take this thingy further with Bucky? Fuck. This plane...jet...metal fucking contraption...had better land soon. 

Because, Steve had a book or two to check the fuck out.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late night walks. Books falling on the floor. Doors slamming. Shushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly boys. 
> 
> Hope you guys like this one!
> 
> Oh, hey, I guess I first posted this a little over a year ago. Whoa! Thanks for going along on this weirdly, sporadic updating scheduled story!

Bucky had been walking the empty sidewalks for the last hour. The sun still hadn’t come up and there was just enough of a chill in the air to help remind him it was now fall and the really cold weather was just around the corner. A time of the year where Bucky would cover himself with sweaters over sweaters to try and keep that cold air out, keep his body protected, to help keep his mind from going to that awesome Flashback Hotel inside his skull. His head was sort of like Hotel California...he was just one stay away from never checking back out again. _Do you want me to serenade you with Don Henley’s voice?_

_Absolutely not. Thanks._

There was just something about being alone at night. One would think, given Bucky’s superb inner monologuing _probably not a word, but continue complimenting me_ skills that left him, a lot of the times, more unnerved than he already was _well, that took a turn...downright rude_ , that he wouldn’t enjoy the quietness of the night. But, there had been something that pulled Bucky apart and put him back together, something about existing when no one else was watching. There was something freeing about not having to pretend he had his shit together for an entire audience of strangers. He could shatter into a million pieces and not have to be a burden on anybody’s lives at least until sunrise. 

Bucky wasn’t sure how he ended up standing in front of the darkened library, but, well...there he was. Muscle memory or something like that. He dug into his pocket, pulling out his set of keys and unlocking the main door. After stepping through the double doors inside, he let the scent of musty books wash over him. It had been almost a week since...The Incident. _oh god...can we NOT refer to it as that?_ It had been a week since Beccs had needed to come and pull his pathetic ass up off the ground after he, basically, ran into the closet because some boy hurt his feelings. _A very cute boy._

_Don’t give him any extra points. Fuck that guy._

_You put a door between you and that option._

_No. He ran out on that option. Where you not there?_

_I had a temporary malfunction._

_Well, that was convenient. Thanks for that, by the way. You kind of left me high and dry there. Long enough for me to freak out._

_Hey! Who do you think called Beccs when you were in the Not Safe Zone in this construction site you call a brain?_

_Was that a self burn?_

_Fuck..._

Bucky flicked on the small desk lamp beside the sleeping computer. A small pile of books sat next to it, waiting to be placed back to their rightful spots amongst the shelves. He slid off his jacket, letting the shoulders wrap around the metal backing of the computer chair and grabbing the discarded pile of literature, tucking them safely against his chest. He walked out into the dim atmosphere of the library, letting just the outside street lights and barely lit desk lamp light his way. 

Another of Bucky’s favorite time of the day was always just before he opened the doors to the public. Not that he really locked the doors after he let himself in. But, people seemed to really follow the rules when it came to the hours plastered on the front doors. He enjoyed being alone and surrounded by thousands of other worlds that he wishes he could exist in. Worlds where he was never hurt, where he was strong and could face all of his own personal demons. Worlds where he didn’t get his arm blown off and his head hadn’t practically been turned into the crusty remnants of a blending gone bad. Instead of cowering away into the smallest corner and let life pass him by. Worlds where he was his old self again. Worlds where he wasn’t afraid and could see the colors life had to offer. Worlds where he could just...be.

He huffed out a breath, something between a sigh and exasperation. As much as he wanted to retreat into a fantasy world where he had two arms and a stable mind...he knew thinking that way was not what him and his entire Help Out Bucky Brigade would want from him at that moment. Not when it took Bucky damn near begging his therapist to let The Incident go and almost screamed to the entire city of New York that it wouldn’t effect him negatively. That...that the whole thing just...it threw him off for a moment. That it wasn’t a spiral into a darkness he couldn’t crawl his way back out of. 

A new prescription and an adjusted dose of medications later...Bucky was able to keep his ass out of some hospital and blend back into the shadows of his life. And...of his books. 

Books. They weren’t people. They didn’t look at him with pity and sadness worming around in their eyes. They didn’t talk to him like he was some broken child’s ragdoll that needed coddling and reassurance that the sun is fucking bright and cheery yellow. Books didn’t kiss him and make him finally feel alive and then fucking high tail it out of the general vicinity of him. No. Books weren’t blond fucking assholes who toyed with his head and left him out to dry. 

Bucky mumbled a soft _sorry_ to the stack of books he just slammed into unorganized spots on the shelf he was standing in front of. They didn’t deserve that. 

He was partway through the small pile in his arms when he heard the double doors creak open and slam shut, absolutely not scaring the shit out of him and causing him to throw the last few books in the air and flinching when they slapped onto the ground by his feet _you owe those books another apology, asshole_. He definitely did. Fuck.

Oh, and speaking of blond stupid assholes...

————————————————————-

Steve had practically ripped his uniform off of his body as he walked...okay, fucking sprinted, to his way-too-luxurious apartment at the tower. He wasn’t entirely sure the damn quinjet fully landed by the time he jumped out of it, actually. He was pretty sure Sam was yelling something at him. Or whoever. Whatever. Clothes. Off. In a very sporadic pattern of undress that led into the en suite. In what was possibly the fastest shower known to man kind, Steve watched the brown and pink water wash down the drain as he was in the process of burning off his skin from drying it too fast. Rug burns...er...towel burns. Pfft.

Hopping on one foot as he tried to slide his feet into jeans and then a boot and half an arm sticking out of a tshirt, Steve grabbed the closest jacket he could find before charging out the door. Halfway down the hallway, he realized he left without his keys. Or his phone. Or his wallet. Or his other boot. 

“Hey, J...can you, uhm, unlock my door. I kind of forgot my keys...”

Steve even had the self awareness of himself to sound embaressed by his lack of thinking...basically having a one-track mind that was constantly screaming **BUCKY BUCKY BUCKY BUCKY** at the top of its non-existent lungs. Wait, can minds have lungs? Not the point. Focus, Steven. 

“Yes, Captain. Might I, also, suggest slowing down your heart rate? It’s beating at a much higher rate than advised, and I have concerns about hyperventilation and possible loss of consciousness. I am, assuming, that wherever you are heading to in such a rushed manner, would not appreciate you unconscious.”

Steve stared at the ceiling. 

“You know, for a voice in the ceiling, you’re kind of a dick.”

“My apologies, sir.”

“Are those apologies sincere? I feel like they’re not.”

“About fifty percent, sir.”

The door clicked open and Steve shouldered his way inside. Yeah. He enjoyed the sass Jarvis gave him from time to time. Technology was still something he was never going to fully grasp, but the posh voice from the ceiling was pretty fucking entertaining. Just...don’t tell Tony that. 

“Thanks, J.”

Grabbing his lone boot, wallet, keys and phone he found himself running back down the hall to the elevators, slamming, a little too aggressively, the button for the main lobby.

———————————————————

Rationally, Steve knew that four in the morning was probably not the most ideal time to wait in front of a dark and locked up tight library. Especially, considering that said library did not open until eight in the morning. Whatever. He could sit his ass on the cold sidewalk and wait for four hours for what he did to Bucky. Running out on him after finally working up the nerve to kiss him. Such a dick move, Rogers. Freeze your fucking ass off. 

He mentally had a war with himself as he walked along the sidewalk, beyond thrilled that the world was still sleeping. That meant he could power walk with enough speed and finesse that even Richard Simmons would be proud about and no one would get in his way. 

The star spangled man with a plan is fucking right.

It just might be four hours early. 

Whatever. 

He yelled at himself about the stupidity of his plan of freezing his ass off on the sidewalk in front of the library...in hopes that Bucky would even be there. Steve almost tripped over himself when that thought punched its way into his head. Fuck. What if Bucky wasn’t working today?! Steve had no idea where he lived. He could, obviously, find that out. Well, not him. One of those other people he sort of knows could do that. Again...Steve and technology. Still working out the kinks. 

Finding people...that was a skill he absolutely did not possess. Nope. 

He figured he’d just wait, then. Wait until Bucky did show up. Or, maybe ask whoever was working that day when he would be back. Something. Anything to try and right the massive fuck up he made. 

He may be the star spangled man or whatever with a plan...but, it was a half assed plan, and was sort of unraveling the closer he got to the library.

Just as he was debating which would look less creepy, pacing back and forth in front of the library doors or sitting his ass on the sidewalk, also, in front of the library doors...he reached the front of those fucking library doors. He was starting to dislike the phrase ‘library doors’...

But, the library wasn’t completely dark. From inside, he could see a faint dim light shining out across that desk that held the computer and the leftover papers that probably had some snide comment about himself and the rest of The Avengers. God, he missed hearing the Under The Breath comments Bucky had made regarding what the media said about him and the rest of The Avengers. Hell, when Bucky blurted out about Captain America not being his boyfriend...Steve nearly threw himself on the ground, slamming his feet and fists against the carpet in the best, most obnoxious temper tantrum known to mankind and screaming “Well, why the fuck not?!” But, you know, for obvious reasons, like him being an adult or responsible or a national icon or whatever...he didn’t. 

He untucked his hands from the pockets of his jacket, breathing in the deep cold air and fake sense of hope that maybe the doors would be unlocked, too. He wrapped his fingers around the metal handle, flinching slightly from the chill that had seeped into the metal throughout the night, and pulled it once, with maybe a little too much hesitation. But, holy shit, the door moved. Holy fucking shit. His odds weren’t usually THAT good. 

He swung the door open, ducking inside into the warmer air. Hand reaching out to the handle of the double doors, these ones way less cold, Steve inhaled sharply, again before pulling them open. The rush of old books and dusty bookcases hit Steve like a tidal wave. There was something oddly soothing about the scent, an almost welcoming aroma. Sure, it’s probably going to take Steve another six months to realize that the reason why the scent was so inviting was because it reminded him of Bucky. But, the Right Now Steve...totally fucking clueless on that lightbulb. 

His eyes had just found the shadowy figure halfway down the length of the library when the doors behind him closed with one hell of a thud. There may have actually been some space between his feet and the ground, honestly. He won’t admit that. Ever. Seriously. Sam could find out. It never happened. Shut it. Move on.

The sound of books hitting the rug echoed around the library, just before a quiet voice broke that reverberating silence.

“What the fuck do you want, Steve?”

Oh god, the way those five letters could sound rolling off of Bucky’s tongue...Steve had imagined too many times to count. Nestled between gasps of pleasure and moans of desire, Steve had wanted his name to fall out of Bucky’s mouth now and until the end of time. But, the way Bucky spat out his name, like a piece of rotten flesh mistaken for some kind of candy...this wasn’t the way Steve wanted to hear it. It wasn’t supposed to sound like that. No. No.

“Buck...I’m...look...”

Steve raised his hands in the air, slowing stepping forward towards Bucky with hesitant steps. 

“I shouldn’t have done what I did. I’m...I don’t think I could ever say sorry enough.”

Steve could finally make out the finer details of Bucky’s face, the parts he could see from under the curtain of Bucky’s hair. There was a frown etched across his lips. Shadows buried underneath his eyes, as though Bucky hadn’t slept in weeks. Shit. That was entirely on him. Wait. No, that’s a little self-centered, or whatever, to assume Bucky had been thinking about him the last few weeks. That, since Steve went and pulled the dickish move possible and up and ran from Bucky, that Bucky was so caught up on Steve and he made any sort of impact on his life. 

“What? Kissed me? Or, ran out right afterwards?”

Bucky took a step back, trying to keep some sort of distance between the two of them. Steve froze. Both Bucky’s actions and his words were enough to almost rip his heart from his chest and stomp it under Bucky’s boot until it was practically part of the carpet. In the basement. 

“For running out. I...I...”

He stepped again towards Bucky, this time, stopping only inches from where Bucky had backed up into the bookcase behind him. His back hitting the metal shelving sent an odd shiver down the spine of Steve’s back. So...that’s what that sounds like...if he were to slam Bucky against it and attack his face with his...well, face.

“I didn’t want to stop kissing you.”

Steve didn’t know what had made his voice drop to the depths of fucking hell deep standing in front of Bucky like that. But, fuck, the way Bucky’s eyes shot open and darkened immediately forced all the remaining rational thinking out of Steve’s mind.

“Steve...”

Fuck, that’s the way he wanted to hear his name drip out of Bucky’s mouth. Rasping, hoarse, struggling to form cohesive sounds, broken with such a feral need that Steve was pretty sure he was three seconds away from spontaneously combusting. He couldn’t help the sound that growled out from his damn fucking toes at that point. 

“Steve, this is a library. You need to keep it down.”

This fucking asshole had the nerve to smirk...SMIRK at Steve. Holy shit. Steve absolutely could play this game..

“Why? Are you going to shush me?”

Steve had stepped closer and closer to Bucky, hands wrapping around his neck, fingers twisted into his hair. Bucky had reached out and pulled on Steve’s hips, grip tight and unrelenting, pressing their bodies together that there wasn’t even any room left for air to slip through. Steve could feel the smirk playing on Bucky’s lips as his lips were just millimeters away from them...breathing in the same breaths as Bucky...body shivering with each inhale and tensing with each exhale.

“I can’t make any promises...”

Oh, fuck.


End file.
